April 10, 1997
by Mediancat
Summary: A psychiatrist, hypnotizing Faith during a mandated therapy session in prison, discovers that Faith may not be who she thinks she is.
1. Chapter 1

This is a just-for-the-hell-of-it idea I literally dreamed up. My brain has spent most of the day trying to make it plausible.

This is a crossover. I can't specify with what because it would ruin the surprise.

Also: The timeframes might not quite match up. I've chosen to go with the _Buffy_ timeframe instead of the timeframe of the other show. But that one's convoluted enough that I don't think I'm horribly off, here.

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon created _Buffy_ and its associated characters. Someone else created the other show -- I can't say who. I'll fully disclaim that one once I get to part two.

The character of Lynette Vaughn is entirely my own creation. As is the plot.

X X X X X

Faith approached the prison psychiatrists' office with a bit of apprehension. Part of her sentence was mandatory counseling until the state of California felt her psychiatric issues had been resolved.

Given Faith's family history, that was likely to be for the duration of her sentence

Still, she actually liked Dr. Vaughn. The woman never talked down to her, never presumed she was stupid just because she wasn't very educated, and let Faith set her own pace. Best of all, she didn't try to force Faith to go on any kind of drug regimen. She could have; but she said she'd let Faith make that call, for the moment, anyway.

"You know the rules, Lehane," the guard said. "Stay in the chair unless the doc tells you otherwise. And behave yourself."

"I always do," Faith said.

"So far," the guard said, opening the door. "That's why you get to go in there without handcuffs or ankle bracelets."

"You make a girl feel all special," Faith said.

"Yeah, yeah," the guard said, laughing. "Now sit. I'm right outside. Doc's running a little late."

Faith meditated for a few minutes until the door opened and the guard let in Dr. Lynette Vaughn. Dr. Vaughn was a good-looking woman in her early 40's and must have stood a good six foot two. She was also a karate black belt and had grown up in inner-city Baltimore, so she knew how to fight. One of the reasons she worked well here. Not an inmate in the place intimidated her.

"How are you doing today, Faith?" she asked as she sat down at the table opposite the Slayer.

"Can't really complain," Faith said. "Other inmates still keeping away from me. I'm happy about that."

"I also see you're studying for your GED."

"Yeah. Never really got out of tenth grade. Off chance I ever get out of here I want to be able to offer prospective employers something more than my winning personality."

Frowning slightly, Dr. Vaughn said, "I thought you left school in ninth grade."

"I did," Faith said.

"You said tenth."

"Huh. Slip of the tongue, then. No biggie."

Dr. Vaughn made a note on her notepad. "You say you're happy with the other inmates keeping away from you. You've always been something of a loner, right?"

"Yeah. Hard lesson I learned early on that I couldn't count on anyone. My father died, my sister died, my mother abused me and then she died also. Other people could be useful, but in the end all you got is yourself."

"You don't sound so sure of that."

"I ain't. Don't get me wrong. I still don't think there's a lot of people around you can count on. But I found a few. Drove most of 'em away." Thank God for Angel, Faith thought. "I'm just glad there was one person who wouldn't put up with my crap."

"That would be this fellow Angel, correct?"

"Right. Saw through me when no one else could. Saw what I really wanted to do was kill myself when I came after him. Wouldn't let me do it."

Dr. Vaughn made another note, then said, "Any recurrence of those thoughts?"

"Nope. Easy way out. I ain't interested in taking the easy way out any more."

They spoke like that for about another twenty minutes before Dr. Vaughn said, "Faith, I'd like your permission to try something different."

"Long as it ain't Scientology, I'm game."

X X X X X

This was good. Maybe she could help Faith -- really help her. Lynette knew that the conversations alone were helping her, especially because Faith tended to stay isolated from everyone else. By choice. Despite what the girl claimed, Lynette was sure that it wasn't just her parent's dying that had caused Faith to want to be a loner. She wasn't sure what it was, but she'd find out.

"I have no interest in helping you fight off your inner Thetan," Lynette said. Faith's education was a bit odd, too. Every once in a while she'd show that she knew something obscure -- something from beyond the headline news and comic books. There was a very intelligent woman lurking under there.

And one who could still be saved. One who had, in fact, gone a long way towards saving herself.

"So what, then?"

"Hypnosis."

"Hey, Doc, my life's an open book to you anyway."

"You're remarkably cooperative," Lynette said. "You've even talked about the murder you committed without me having to put pressure on you. That puts you one up on most of the women I have to deal with."

"They're still saying they're innocent," Faith said. "I'm not."

"Still," Lynette said, "I think it would be helpful. You almost never talk about your life before your mother died and you fled to Sunnydale. I realize that the abandonment issues led you to go to work for former Mayor Wilkins --"

"He was like a substitute father, yeah yeah yeah. I figured that one out myself." Oh yes, she was smart, all right.

"But I think your issues go deeper than that. Can I try the hypnosis?"

Faith shrugged. "Why not? It's not like I got anywhere else I'd rather be right now."

Lynette knew that Faith practiced meditation; the man who'd rescued her, Angel, had brought in some tapes she used. So she'd become experienced at becoming relaxed.

Getting her into deep hypnosis was remarkably easy.

"Faith?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you take me back to the day your father died?"

"No!" Faith yelled. "No. I can't remember. I can't remember."

"And your mother?"

"No! I can't remember that either!"

Lynette knew what the next answer would be, but she said it anyway. "And your sister?"

"Why are you making me do this?" Despite her agonized voice, she stayed under hypnosis. The guard was peering into the room, but Lynette waved him off.

"What day did this happen?"

"The day I was born," Faith said. "April 10, 1997."

"Faith, you would have been fifteen then."

"No," Faith insisted. "That's the day I was born."

Even then, Lynette was beginning to have her suspicions. "Can you go back any further?"

"There is nowhere further back to go."

"Faith, you've clearly been alive longer than four years."

"I was born on April 10, 1997," she insisted.

"There is some part of you that had to have been around before that," Lynette said. "Think."

"No!"

"Yes! Who were you before then? What happened? Tell me, Faith! Tell me so I can help you!"

Faith screamed right then, a scream of anguish, not rage. The guard opened the door, but at a gesture from Lynn stopped again and closed it.

She put her head down on the desk. When she picked it up again, things were different.

_She_ was different.

Her eyes seemed -- wise beyond their years. And her expression had gone from anguish to cynicism.

"Okay," she said in a near-monotone, "Where am I?" She looked around. "I knew it. Mom read my stories, and she had me committed." She looked down at her outfit and continued, "Or possibly incarcerated. I didn't realize stories could get one sent to jail these days. Perhaps we truly are living in a police state."

This was the proof. Faith Lehane was a split personality of some sort. From what she'd said, this was "My name is Lynette Vaughn," she said. "I'm a psychiatrist here at the LA County Jail."

"LA County? That settles it. No more jalapeno pizza before bed."

"Jalapeno Pizza?"

"I may not know much about the penal system, but I do know this: People getting punished for things they did in Texas don't end up in prison in Los Angeles. Therefore this must be a dream." She pinched herself. "Although, admittedly, the usual method of waking myself up appears not to be working. Perhaps a large anvil on the head would do the trick." She kept speaking in the monotone. Lynette noticed that her voice contained no traces of Faith's Boston accent. This was a genuine split personality.

"You're not asleep, Faith," Lynette said. "This isn't a dream."

"It must be," Faith said. "I can see you clearly and I know that even at age 16 my eyesight's 20-100 at best. Eyesight just doesn't get better overnight."

"What day is this?"

"April 9, 1997," she said. "And by the way, I don't know why you're calling me Faith. It's not my name. It sounds like a name my parents would have used back in their hippie days, and I'm thankful I wasn't born then, but that's not my name."

"What is your name, then?"

"Daria. Daria Morgendorffer."


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Okay, it should be obvious by now: The crossover is with "Daria," which I consider one of the greatest animated series ever. Obviously this is wildly AU for Daria as well as the Buffyverse.

When I dreamed up the idea, I thought it ludicrous. Then I began to wonder how the hell I could pull it off. I hope so far I'm succeeding.

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon created Faith and the _Buffy_verse. Glenn Eichler created Daria Morgendorffer. I created Lynette Vaughn and Bonita Juarez.

X X X X X

For a minute, Lynette Vaughn wondered if Faith was simply playing some kind of twisted joke on her.

The Morgendorffer murders had made national headlines four years back. The family was on the verge of moving from Highland, Texas to Lawndale, Maryland, when there was a particularly brutal home invasion. Odd to move that late in the school year, but apparently Mrs. Morgendorffer's new boss insisted.

Willard Jay Harbaugh had kicked down the door at around 9 PM, and killed the three occupants each with a single gunshot to the head: Jake Morgendorffer, 47; Helen Morgendorffer; 46; and daughter Quinn, 14. The elder daughter, Daria, 16, had gone missing around the same time. When Harbaugh was caught a week later, he loudly denied having anything to do with her disappearance.

He was grilled for quite a while, and ultimately he confessed to the deaths of the two parents and the youngest daughter, but kept insisting that he didn't kidnap the older one. "I'm a robber, not a rapist," he said indignantly.

It turned out he'd been telling the truth. Daria had been working on one final school project with quite possibly the two stupidest human beings on the planet who were actually capable of dressing themselves. She hadn't left until 9:30, if the idiots could be believed

Then what had occurred became clearer. Daria had come home before the police had gotten there and must have run off.

What had happened to her after that was anyone's guess. She was last seen boarding a bus to Nashville, but by the time the police had found she'd long since gotten there and had time to disappear.

The search for Daria Morgendorffer had become a nationwide manhunt, concentrating in the South. After a few months, it had died off, though it had never completely disappeared. Every year since on April 10 there was a brief revival – and it had been featured on an episode of Dateline NBC.

No one had ever put Faith Lehane and Daria Morgendorffer together. No one would have had any reason to.

"Excuse me," Faith – no, _Daria­ – _said"Did the gears inside your head break down?"

"No," Lynette said, trying to collect herself. "Just trying to collect my thoughts."

"If you have more than one, that puts you ahead of most of the people I've known," she said.

"Don't think much of the intelligence of your fellow human beings?"

"If they showed any, perhaps I might have an opinion on it." She looked around the room. "Since I'm probably not actually in here for my writing, can I ask why I am here?"

"I'm not sure that's a good idea right now, Daria," Lynette said. "I'll just tell you this for the moment. It's not April 9, 1997, any more."

"I do feel like I've lost some time," Daria admitted. "The fact that I can see you without squinting tells me that. I don't feel like I have contact lenses in, either."

Lynette looked though her charts. While she didn't have the complete medical history of Faith Lehane, she did have a few basics. "Your eyesight's 20/20," she said. "Has been since you first got here."

"So, what _is_ today's date?"

"March 29, 2001."

"I'm _twenty?_" she asked in disbelief, showing some emotion for the first time. "So, let me get this straight. I've suddenly jumped four years in time. I'm in jail for some reason you won't tell me. I'm obviously not violently insane or I'd be on restraints and there would be more than one goon on the other side of that wall. And I can see." She rolled her eyes. "Any minute now Rod Serling is going to walk in and tell me that this has all been an episode of the Twilight Zone."

Lynette shook her head, "Sorry, Daria. One more question. When were you born?"

"March 18, 1981." She wrote that down. Faith Lehane's records showed her as having been born April 10, 1982. She was now positive that date wasn't a coincidence.

"And now, Daria, I'm sorry, but you're going to have to go away for a while."

"Wait, I—"

Lynette reluctantly spoke the trigger word and Daria's head slumped down to the desk. "When you hear me, and only me, say the following words in this exact order: 'Jake, Helen, Quinn,' Daria, you can come back out. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"And then when you hear me, and only me, say the words "Faith Ellen Lehane," will Faith reappear. Do you understand?"

"Yes.

Then she slowly began to bring Faith out of the trance.

X X X X X

Faith heard Dr. Vaughn ask her, "How do you feel?"

Faith shrugged. "Like I just took a power nap. How long was I under?"

"About 45 minutes," Dr. Vaughn said.

"So our time's almost up. Learn anything?"

"A few things. And I have a couple of questions for you."

"Fire away, Doc."

"Have you always had good eyesight?"

That was an odd question, but the Doc musta had a reason. "Naah. I had pretty sucky eyesight 'til Mayor Wilkins got some eye doctor to do that LASIK surgery on me. My other senses are terrific and I got by on that and my close-up vision if I needed to read anything." It was one of the reasons she'd never been particularly good at missile weapons, either, until the surgery. Her vision'd gotten better suddenly one day in May of '98 -- the day she became a Slayer -- but it hadn't gotten perfect. "Why do you want to know? You think my LASIK surgery screwed up my head?"

"No. Just something you said under hypnosis. Also, does the date April 10, 1997 mean anything to you?"

Okay, obviously one of the things Dr. Vaughn found out was the exact day her Mom'd kicked. "Of course it does. It was my 15th birthday and the day my Mom died."

"What about your father and sister?"

"They died before that. You know that already."

"Just confirming something. Have you ever been to Texas?"

"Passed through on my way to Sunnydale," she said. "Never made it back. Don't really want to go, either. I'm just lucky I did my crime in Cali 'stead of down there with that governor they got. One'd get you ten I'd be on Death Row right about now."

"Have you ever heard the name Willard Jay Harbaugh?"

Faith thought for a second. It seemed vaguely familiar but she couldn't say where she'd heard it, or when, or in connection with what. She said as much to the doctor.

"Okay. Thanks. I think that's it for today."

Faith frowned. "You gonna tell me what you got when I was under?"

"Eventually," Dr. Vaughn said. "I promise. But not yet." She nodded her head, though. "I think this was a breakthrough session, though, I really do."

The Doc wouldn't say something like that unless it was true. She wasn't a BS artist. "Well, this ain't fair," she said. "Now you know more about me than I do."

"Only for a bit. I swear." Then she closed her notebook and moved around to knock on the door. The guard looked through the window, then opened the door so Dr. Vaughn could leave.

A couple of minutes later, he came back to take Faith back to her cell. She had a cell to herself. One of the few concessions she'd gotten when she pleaded. Faith didn't want to take the risk on having a cellmate shock her awake, because she was afraid of how she'd react.

And her policy was no more Allan Finches. Ever.

After the guard locked her in, she went to her bunk, pulled out the history textbook she was looking over, and started reading.

She was up to the JFK assassination. Something about that she'd always found fascinating. She had no idea why.

X X X X X

Lynette Vaughn stopped by the warden's office on her way out. Fortunately, Warden Juarez was still there.

She knocked on the door. "Bonnie?" she said. "Got a minute?"

Bonita Juarez looked up from her desk. She was a small, thin woman about Lynette's age. "Yeah. Just some damn paperwork. What's up?" Then she frowned. "Today was your appointment with Lehane, right?"

"Yeah. Actually, we had a bit of a breakthrough." Then Lynette explained what had happened.

The first thing Bonnie said when she was done was, "You've been doing this five years now, Lynette. Are you sure the girl's not bullshitting you?"

"Nothing's 100 certain in psychiatry," Lynette said. "But I've seen the women around here try to fake every mental illness from anxiety disorder to tardive dyskinesia because they think the mental ward would be better than this place. I'd lay heavy odds that Faith Lehane is not one of them."

"Jesus Christ," Bonnie said. "You'd think someone would've caught this when the girl confessed."

"You would think so," Lynette said. "It's possible Daria Morgendorffer was never fingerprinted, though." She said, "As far as DNA or dental records go, the only thing I can think of is that since she was confessing to the crime no one felt the need to run anything but the prints through the system."

"I'll call the LAPD," the warden said, "And see if I can get them to wire down to Highland, Texas for Daria Morgandorffer's dental records. I'll ask them to compare them to Lehane's last visit to the prison dentist and see what we can get. Now. What do we do if Faith Lehane actually turns out to be Daria Morgandorffer?"

"I have no idea," Lynette said. "I mean, get her treatment, obviously. It's premature what kind would be best."

"I thought with MPD they normally tried to integrate the personalities."

"Often. Not always. We'd see what would work best for her."

"And the legal side of things? I mean, this gives her an easy shot at a psych defense if she wants a new trial."

"Faith Lehane doesn't want that," Lynette said. "As for Daria Morgendorffer -- she never signed on for any of this. Faith just brought her along for the ride."

"I pity the DA who catches this one," Bonnie said.

"So do I."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: All _Buffy_ and _Angel_ characters were created by Joss Whedon. Daria was created by Glenn Eichler.

X X X X X

Warden Bonita Juarez sighed as Lynette left the office. She could feel a headache coming on already.

You had to kind of be a Renaissance woman to be a prison warden; at least, that was her theory. You had to be part psychologist, part animal wrangler, part cop, part lawyer, and part bureaucrat. And every one of those parts was telling her that there was no way this was going to end up well for everyone. Either Lehane would end up in a psych ward – and despite the crimes she'd committed she'd been a model prisoner – or she'd be released – and putting a multiple murderer back on the street was a publicity nightmare – or she'd stay in jail – and Lynette would probably scream bloody blue murder about it.

And she wouldn't have even thought to try to intimidate Lynette into changing her mind. The woman didn't need this job. She'd married into money and was doing this because she loved it. And, of course, the thought of 5'1" Bonita Juarez intimidating 6'3" Lynette Vaughn was ludicrous on the face of it.

If it had been any other of the psychiatrists who came through here, she'd have probably told them to fuck off the second they brought up Multiple Personality Disorder. The thing was, though, is that Lynette was really pretty good at figuring out when a prisoner was lying to her and when she wasn't.

Too damn many of the shrinks were all touchy-feely, willing to believe that all these poor girls had needed was to be hugged as a child. Lynette wasn't like that. So if she said that Lehane had a split personality, then she was probably right. And if she thought a girl needed help, she'd move heaven and earth to make that happen.

Bonita could tell – Lynette already felt that way about Lehane. She was convinced that Faith Lehane was actually Daria Morgendorffer.

It was the only reason she was making the phone call.

First was to the prison hospital wing, where she ordered the results of Lehane's last full set of X-rays sent up. (Even in prison, patients retained some right to doctor-patient confidentiality. This was one of the exceptions.)

The next part was harder. She called a friend of hers on the LAPD – someone she trusted not to go blabbing the story to the fucking world – and asked him to ask the Highland, Texas police to send up Daria Morgendorffer's dental records and to see if she'd ever been fingerprinted.

If that didn't work, they'd have to go with DNA. And _that_ would bring more publicity than she needed.

"Daria Morgendorffer?" her friend asked. "Isn't she the girl who vanished four years ago?"

"Yeah. I think she's one of our inmates under a different name and I wanted to doublecheck."

"Wow. That would be – wow."

"Yeah. Can you do it?"

"Sure, Bonnie. Do you want me to arrange an appointment with our dentist as well?"

"That'd be great. You set it up and I'll shoot the records of my inmate over."

When she hung up, she reached into her drawer for her aspirin bottle.

Headache. Definitely.

X X X X X

The next thing Daria knew, she was sitting at the same table again, with the same woman facing her.

"That wasn't very nice. What you did," she said.

"Sorry about that, Daria. I'm Dr. Lynette Vaughn. I don't remember if I told you my name the first time I was here."

"For all I know, you've told me your name hundreds of times. I mean, when you can apparently induce amnesia like that, who knows _how_ many times I've put in an appearance? Maybe you bring me out at parties."

"Nothing like that," Dr. Vaughn said.

"What _did _you do, anyway? I mean, I know time has passed. If for no other reason than that the drip marks on the far wall have gotten longer. And the rats in the corner are now making love." Dr. Vaughn whipped her head around. There were, of course, no rats. Daria smiled faintly. "Made you look."

Dr. Vaughn said, "It's been a couple of days. And there's no amnesia involved here."

"Apparently I've lost four years of my life. Plus at least two days. If that's not amnesia, what is it?"

"DID."

"Daria Is Dead?"

"No."

"Damn Idiot Drivers?"

"Dissociative Identity Disorder. You might know it better as Multiple Personality Disorder."

"Wait, so I have more than one personality?" Dr. Vaughn shook her head. "The last day I remember is April 9, 1997. Are you saying I've been someone else for nearly _four years_?"

"Yes."

"Well, then, why don't you tell me who I've been. And whether it has anything to do with my stylish accommodations here in California's highest-rated penal colony." She looked at Dr. Vaughn hard. "You know, the Michelin Guide gave it four stars."

"I imagine you use sarcasm a lot, Daria. As a way to distance yourself from the world."

Perceptive. "Are you saying the world isn't worth keeping at arm's distance?"

"Not all the time, no. Tell me. How many friends have you had? Real friends?"

"None." No one in Highland counted. "But I haven't met anyone worth getting to know, yet."

Dr. Vaughn smiled. "That's something you and your other identity have in common. I think it may be the only thing."

"Could you tell me something about myself? Obviously this other identity of mine did something pretty heinous, if I not only am stuck in jail but have mandated therapy sessions." She paused, then said, "I suppose this could all be a grand conspiracy, but the last time I checked we were not in fact all living in a Philip K. Dick novel."

Dr. Vaughn shook her head. "No. Nor is this an Oliver Stone movie." She took a deep breath. "I'm not going to give this to you all at once. There's a lot to deal with. But your other identity's name is --"

"Faith. Yeah. I got that already." Still, the name sounded familiar.

"Daria?" the psychiatrist continued. "Is everything okay?"

"I recognize it from somewhere," Daria said. "It's not a relative and it's not a pet. And before you ask, no, I _don't_ remember anything of my other identity, so that's not where I know it from." After a second, "You said Faith and I had almost nothing in common. What else can you tell me about her?"

"I'm not going to tell you her crimes. We'll get into that at a later session."

"I wasn't asking about her crimes, just her personality." Though that Dr. Vaughn wasn't mentioning Faith's crimes told her enough. You didn't get locked up and forced to see the prison shrink because you'd spit on the sidewalk.

"Faith is . . . uneducated, but cunning and smart. She's tough. She rarely lets people see who she really is. She's a lot more profane than you seem to be. At least until she got here, she was lively and sociable. She's sexually active. Nobody messes with her because they know they can be in a lot of trouble if they do. She knows how to fight. She's quick to anger and she wears her emotions on her sleeve. She has maybe one person, at this point, she can call a friend."

"So if this were a competition, she'd be ahead, 1-0."

"It's not a competition."

"It's not? Darn. And to think I spent all that time learning how to twirl fire batons." She paused. "Anyway, thank you. I expect eventually you'll tell me what happened to me. And where my family is."

"The last date you remember is April 9, 1997?"

"Yes. Up until two days ago." After a second. "Why is that important?"

"Because Faith says April 10, 1997, is the day she was born. And she can't remember it, either. And now, I'm going to need Faith back."

"Wait. Does _she_ know she's a split personality?"

"No."

"Tell her. Please."

Visibly thinking for a second, Dr. Vaughn said. "I'll think about it. Faith Ellen Leh—"

X X X X X

The phone rang at Angel investigations. Since Angel was closest, he picked it up.

"Angel?"

He recognized the voice on the other end. Former detective Lockley. "Kate. Hey. How's it going?"

"I've got a couple of opportunities lined up – all well away from LA. I think I need to get away from the weird for awhile." She'd taken a couple of months off, in the meantime, to decompress from her recent traumas. Angel fully understood why.

"I can't honestly blame you. Just remember there's weird everywhere."

"I know. Look, I called because I was having lunch with one of my old colleagues – one of the few who doesn't think I'm completely insane -- and heard something interesting about that Faith girl you talked into confessing."

Worried, Angel asked, "Is she okay?"

"As far as I know," Kate said. "This is more along the lines of 'odd' than 'scary.' The warden of the prison she's in sent her dental records in to be compared to that of some girl from Texas who vanished four years ago."

"Texas? Faith's from Boston."

"That's what I thought, too. Apparently the case made national headlines. The rest of the girl's family was killed and she disappeared. She wasn't a suspect or a victim, but she hasn't been seen since."

"Do you remember the girl's name?" Angel said.

"Daria something. Some long last name. Sounded German to me. Anyway, since you're so interested in keeping track of her I thought I'd pass this on. Don't know if there's anything you can do about it."

"Thanks, Kate. I appreciate it. Look. When you know where you're going, let me know, okay?"

"I will. And thanks, Angel."

"You're welcome."

Wesley came into the room before Angel could hang up. "Angel, I -- sorry, didn't realize you were still on the phone."

Putting down the receiver, Angel said, "Just got off, Wes. Found out something weird about Faith." He explained what and finished with, "They're checking her records against some girl named Dara, Dora . . ."

"Daria," Wesley said.

Angel looked at him. "Yeah. How did you know?"

Wesley looked a bit abashed. "Funny story, actually . . . "


	4. Chapter 4

Author's note: Let's just assume she had that outfit when she was still in Highland, okay?

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon created Faith, Angel, and Wesley. Glenn Eichler created Daria Morgendorffer. The plot and the other characters are mine."

X X X X X

"Good," Angel said. "I'm in the mood for a good laugh." The tone in his voice said otherwise.

"Angel, I—"

"And if you're about to give me some line about how this was Council business and none of mine, you can save it. How did you know the name 'Daria?'"

"Actually," Wesley said, "I was trying to figure out what to tell you first. I guess the first thing I should do is clear everyone else. Giles knew none of this."

"Good to know," Angel said. "Now what's this 'this' he didn't know?"

Sighing, Wesley said, "Faith wasn't born Faith. The Council keeps records of all of the potential Slayers. Buffy, if you remember, slipped through the cracks. That rarely happens. There was never a record of a potential Slayer named 'Faith Lehane.' But there was one of a young girl from Texas named 'Daria Morgendorffer.' When she disappeared, her file was placed in the 'deceased' part of the Council's records."

"Get on with it, Wes," Angel said impatiently.

"I'm giving you all the necessary background information," Wesley said. "There are certain things that cannot be boiled down to a five-second sound bite. This is one of them." He paused for a second and then said, "Anyway, imagine our surprise when we discovered Ms. Morgendorffer had been activated – and in Boston. Imagine our double surprise when she identified herself as a young woman named 'Faith Lehane' and stubbornly insisted that that was her name – and that she was a year younger than our records indicated."

Angel couldn't believe what he was hearing. Not that he had any great faith in the Watcher's council, anyway, but this? "And you didn't think to, oh, I don't know, notify her family? Or maybe try to figure out why she was going by a new name?"

"I'm not personally to blame for any of this," Wesley said. "It was presented to me as a _fait accompli_ when I was assigned to take over for Giles as Buffy and Faith's watcher."

"What could they have been _thinking_? Taking someone who was unstable –"Angel wondered if that could have been the root of Faith's later issues. Actually, wonder was far too mild a term.

"Their thinking was that there was a second Slayer, and that taking several months to restore her to sanity wasn't worth the time effort." He grinned ruefully. "It is a position I have come to loathe. The Council figured that Faith was stable enough as her current personality that the fact that she had been born Daria Morgendorffer was irrelevant. They got her a Social Security number, dummied up a birth certificate, and Faith Lehane was now a legal resident of the United States. They wanted someone out there killing vampires and demons now, not in six months or two years or however long it would take to restore her."

"And so they sacrificed an innocent girl," Angel said contemptuously.

"Yes. To my shame and Faith – and Daria's – detriment. Not a day goes by that I don't wish we'd gotten help for her years ago." Then he added. "I hope now she can get that help. And I wish there was something more we could do about it."

"Did the Council have anything to do with _creating_ Faith?" Angel asked.

"If the Council were going to create a Slayer, don't you think they would have made one who was a bit more . . . pliable? No, Faith came to us more or less fully formed. Our crime was in the cover-up."

"Why haven't you mentioned anything about this before?"

"To what end? I never once saw any hint of Daria Morgendorffer in Faith. I'd assumed she was gone for good."

"Maybe we could have _helped_ her, Wes!"

"By the time she needed the help, it was already too late," Wesley said.

"I'm telling you this much," Angel said. "Whatever we can do to help her, at this point, we do. No arguments."

"I wasn't going to make any."

X X X X X

As Lynette Vaughn signed in at the prison entrance. As she got ready for the search – and the guards were always thorough, Bonnie wasn't going to let them slack off just because the guards had seen Lynette a hundred times – one of them said, "Dr. Vaughn? Warden Juarez said she'd like to see you before your appointment."

"Thanks, Chris," she said, and made her way to Bonnie's office. She knocked on the door and was told to come in.

"Lynette," Bonnie said. "This should only take a minute. It's about Lehane."

"The police compared the dental records."

"Yeah, they did," Bonnie said. "And you were right. Faith Lehane is in fact Daria Morgendorffer."

Lynette sat down. "So. What now?"

"Well, you're still her court-mandated psychiatrist until someone tells me differently, so you can go right ahead and try to cure her. As for the legal aspects – I was waiting till I talked to you to make my appointment with the District Attorney."

"Not sure whether we should hand it over?"

Sighing, Bonnie said, "That's part of it, yeah. I'm not that much of a fucking coward, but it's possible the DA'll come down hard on us even for mentioning it."

"You want me to take the lead, then?" Lynette asked. "I'll tell them I pushed you into doing it for me." People would believe this, too. Having a rep as someone who was willing to take no prisoners to do the right thing could be something of a benefit at time. She'd cheerfully take the hit if it'd help Bonnie. She counted the woman as a friend, and that's what friends did.

"No," Bonnie said. "Like I said, I'm no coward. I've known this was going to be trouble all along. If I'd wanted to back out I could've done so."

Nodding her head, Lynette said, "Make the appointment, then. You know my schedule here; anything else, I'll work around."

She left the Warden's office, and after getting through the guard station, went into the room where Faith was waiting.

"Good to see you, Doc," Faith said. "How's it hanging?"

"Pretty good. You?"

"Same ol' same ol'. Study, work out a bit, sleep, you know the drill. I've been reading a lot about the Kennedy assassination recently, trying to catch up on my history."

"And do you believe it was a conspiracy?"

"Naah. I think the cover-up came after when everyone figured out how badly they'd fucked up the security and all that."

"Interesting. I just got some interesting news about you," Lynette said. She'd been thinking about Daria's request and decided that it was time to tell Faith the truth.

"Spill, then. I'd like to hear it."

"One of the things you told me when you were under hypnosis is that you were born on April 10, 1997."

"Interesting. I have no idea what that means, though."

That was perceptive of her. A bit more perceptive than she knew, unfortunately. "You're right. Tell me," she said a bit more conversationally. "What do you remember about your childhood?"

"One lousy day after another – an angry father, an annoying sister – until they both left – and a mother who hit me regular, when she wasn't busy drinking up a storm." She'd have to ask Daria about her impressions of her parents and sister. Helen Morgendorffer hadn't been a drunk; she'd been a workaholic.

"Anything specific?"

Faith shrugged. "Not really. It's all just one big blur, for the most part, until the day I came home and found my Mom dead." Of course, that date had been April 10, 1997.

"So would you say your life started then?"

Faith smiled. "I think I see what you're getting at. That's why when you had me under I said I was born on April 10. 'cause that's when my life really got started."

Lynette sighed. "More than you know, Faith," she said.

Faith looked at her suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

"Do you know what DID is?"

"I know it spells 'did.' Otherwise, no clue."

"How about Multiple Personality Disorder?"

"Yeah. That's when someone had some kind of trauma so something in 'em comes up with an entirely new personality to deal with it." Apparently Lynette's look was one of disbelief, because Faith said, "You watch enough Law & Order, you pick shit up. Anyway, what does – hold it. You sayin' I got another personality?"

"No, Faith. I'm saying you _are_ another personality."

X X X X X

Faith couldn't believe it. "What the hell are you talking about?" she said angrily.

The doc said, "I mean, you're not . . . You."

"Who the fuck else would I be?" Despite her anger, Faith didn't move from the chair. She knew the guards would be in here in seconds if she got up now.

"Do you really want to know?"

"Damn right I do."

"Jake, Helen, Qui--"

X X X X X

"Oh goody. Another sojourn into the land of the living," Daria said.

"I'm trying to prove something to Faith," Dr. Vaughn said. "I told her she was a split personality and she's having trouble believing it. I want you to write something down here." She handed Daria a pen and a sheet of paper.

Daria wrote down, "Help! I'm being held prisoner inside my own body!" Dr. Vaughn said, "Sign it, please." Daria did so, then said, "You're sending me away again, aren't you?"

"Not forever," Dr. Vaughn said. "I promise you that. Faith Ellen Leha--"

X X X X X

Faith was jolted back into herself. "Look at the piece of paper," Dr. Vaughn said. Looking down, Faith saw the phrase "Help! I'm being held prisoner inside my own body!" and a signature: "Daria Morgendorffer."

"Doc," she said, "This doesn't prove anything."

"You think I wrote it?"

"Or maybe I did under hypnosis."

The doc took the sheet of paper and scribbled out the same sentence. "Now you," she said. Faith wrote it out. "Check all three sentences," she said. "They're not even close."

After examining all three, Faith had to concede that none of them looked alike. Of course, she wasn't a handwriting expert. "Do you believe me now?" Dr. Vaughn asked.

"How do you know _I'm_ the split? Maybe Daria is --"

But the Doc shook her head, saying, "I've got a dozen reasons, Faith -- but I can tell you're not ready to accept any of them."

"How would you feel if someone came up to you and said, 'You're not real, I got proof?' Don't answer. It would scare the shit out of you." She looked up at the woman and said, "I don't want to go away forever."

"Ideally, Faith, you won't."

"But since when is my life ever ideal?" Faith said bitterly.

The therapy session wound down after that. Faith went through the rest of the day mechanically.

When she fell asleep that night she had a dream.

She was back in the apartment Mayor Wilkins had gotten her. She knew she only dreamed about this place when it was something important.

She felt a tap on her shoulder. Turning around, she saw a girl of about 16. Her height, with dark straight hair, a green jacket, a black skirt, thick glasses, and bulky boots. "My name's Daria," the girl said. "We need to talk."


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: The _Buffy_ and _Angel_ characters were created by Joss Whedon. _Daria_ and its characters were created by Glenn Eichler. I own the storyline.

X X X X X

Angel had called Kate back and filled her in on what Wesley had told him.

"You're kidding," she'd said.

"I wish I was," had been Angel's response. "But it's pretty much par for the course for the Watcher's Council. They figure they're going to chew these girls up and spit them out anyway, so why waste time trying to fix the broken ones? If Faith -- Daria -- had been delusional, they'd probably just have had her killed and moved on to the next one."

"That is _monstrous_," Kate had said.

"I'm with you there. So, what's the reaction inside the department likely to be when this all comes out?"

Kate had said, "Most cops don't like the insanity defense even when the person using it is clearly batshit out of their tree. In a situation like this they're likely to see it as just someone else trying to fake their way out of jail."

"What do you think?" Angel'd asked.

"It's not my area of expertise. I track them down and arrest them, I don't judge their defenses. But if this is a genuine split personality I wouldn't object to making sure she got cured and then letting her go. As long as she _is_ cured."

"I'm going to do my best to make sure that happens," Angel'd said.

"It's not going to be easy," Kate had said. "There'll be objections from the police, from the DA, from the public if they find out, and probably the family of Allan Finch as well.

"And Kate, I hate to do this to you --"

"But you want me to keep my ears open and see if I can give you a heads-up?" Angel had said yes. "Sure. I'm not leaving LA for another month or so anyway."

"Long sabbatical," Angel had commented

Kate had taken it the right way. "It's not like I didn't need it."

"True enough. Thanks, Kate."

Then he'd hung up.

In the intervening couple of days, he and Wes hadn't told anyone, not even Cordelia or Gunn. And if he was having a hard time telling Cordy . . .

Imagine what it would be like telling _Buffy_.

X X X X X

Faith looked at Daria. "So, you're who they say I used to be, huh?" When she looked closely, she could see the resemblance. Maybe she could've even guessed they were related. But the same person?

"I _am_ who you used to be. And you're who I became," Daria said. "Let me guess. You're not impressed."

"No. But I don't impress easy. And I bet you can say the same."

Daria smiled faintly. "No. But I don't impress easily, either."

"You don't look like that anymore, you know," Faith said.

"Actually, I don't. I have yet to see a mirror. Or anything but the inside of a prison conference room. Or any person but Dr. Vaughn. For all I know we're the last two people on Earth, and the aliens are conducting some kind of strange scientific experiment."

"Didn't happen," Faith said. The reality was stranger than that, but she wasn't sure Daria was ready for it.

"Well, that's good to know, at least. My phaser skills are rusty."

"So, what did you want to talk about? 'cause if you're looking for me to catch you up on the last four seasons of X-Files, gotta say, you coulda just let me write it down."

"I appreciate the offer. Really. But my tastes run more towards _Sick Sad World_." She paused and said, "And you know what we have to talk about."

"I'm real," Faith said.

"I never said you weren't," Daria said. "But I'm real too. Is your reality more important than mine?"

"I ain't saying I'd like doing it to you. But if it's a choice between you and me, you lose."

"I'm not interested in making this some kind of competition," Daria said. "But considering that in my 16 years of existence I didn't get arrested for jaywalking while in your four you've managed to get arrested for something bad enough to mandate regular visits from a psychiatrist, I might profitably argue that my life is worth more than yours." She paused. "_If_ I were making it a competition, that is."

Faith bristled, then caught something. Daria hadn't known what she'd done. "Dr. Vaughn hasn't filled you in on my history, ha she?"

"Hasn't done more than mention your name. Where did Faith come from?"

Shrugging, Faith said, "It's been my name as far as I can remember. My middle and last name came from my W--" She stopped herself. The last thing she needed was Daria telling Dr. Vaughn that Faith was delusional enough to believe in vampires. "From my temporary guardian," she said, correcting herself.

"Funny how temporary doesn't begin with 'W," Daria said. "But do go on."

"Yeah. What I did. How long a version do you want?"

"I'm not interested in the epic miniseries."

"Okay. Short and sweet, then. I killed people. Two of them. One by accident, but I covered it up. The other . . . On purpose, because my boss at the time asked me to. I confessed to both of 'em and I got 25 to life."

"You killed people? _I _killed people?"

"I killed people," Faith said. "You weren't there."

"Okay, I think I want the miniseries," Daria said, glaring.

Faith told her an edited version of her life -- basically, leaving out the vampires and magic, but nothing else. After she wound up by saying, "And he convinced me to turn myself in. To pay for what I'd done. And that's what I'm doing here right now. Paying."

"What the _hell_ happened to me to turn me into you?" Daria said. "A murderer. A robber. A vicious, uneducated thug. What happened?" Faith took the descriptions in stride, mostly because they were all true. She was working on 'uneducated thug,' but she still had a long way to go.

Assuming she ever got a chance to get there.

"I wish I could tell you," Faith said. "The only thing I know is it happened on April 10, 1997. Apparently when I went under I told the doc that's the day I was born. I remember it as the day of my fifteenth birthday and the day I found my mom dead."

"Is my Mom dead?" Daria said. "Is my family dead?"

"I don't know," Faith said. "The doc never told me that, either. All she said was that I was born you."

"If you ever find out, and you get the chance to talk to me again like this, let me know."

"Daria . . ." Faith said. "I don't think I'd have memories of my folks bein' dead if --"

"You don't know that," Daria said tightly. "And I'm not going to accept it without proof. My mom may be a workaholic, my Dad may be tightly-wound, easily distracted, and a horrible cook, and my sister may be flighty and obsessed with fashion, but they're my family, and even though I say it to them maybe twice a year, I love them, and they love me. And as far as I'm concerned they're still alive and your memories of your dead parents are completely fictional. Do you understand me?"

"Understood," Faith said. Then, quietly, "What are their names? I mean, they're my parents, too." Faith was sure they were dead. But if Daria wasn't ready to handle it, so be it."

"Jake, Helen, and Quinn."

Faith said. "Yeah. Thought so. That's the phrase the doc uses to make me go away for a while." After a second. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Daria said. "Faith Ellen Lehay." Faith must've looked confused, because Daria said, "That's the one she uses for me."

"Lehane," Faith said. "That's my last name."

"I wonder where I got that from," Daria said.

"My guardian gave me the middle and last names," Faith said. "When she found me all I knew was that my name was Faith." She shook her head. "Guess I should've figured something was up then. But even now it's kind of hard to accept that I'm not real."

"Do you think it's any easier to accept that something so horrible happened to me -- who, by the way, is not a murderer, not a robber, not vicious, not uneducated, and not a thug -- that I had to become _you_ to deal with it?"

"I guess not," Faith said.

"Even if Dr. Vaughn somehow manages to integrate us, my life is effectively over. Even under the _best_ of circumstances, I'll be an undereducated 20-year old whom people will believe got away with murder on a technicality."

"Maybe not undereducated," Faith said. "I'm working on my GED."

Daria said, "That's something, at least."

"'sides, you strike me as the kind of person who doesn't give a flying fuck what other people think of you."

"I don't. But I'd prefer them not to be chasing after me with pitchforks and torches, either."

Faith understood what she meant. "So, what do we do now?"

"We try to figure out what happened on April 10, 1997. Maybe if we do that we can find out why I became you, and start taking steps for me actually getting my life back."

"I'm with you on the first. On the second, though -- remember, if you get your life back mine goes away."

"Not necessarily, Faith. If we integrated, we'd become one person with all the memories. If not -- I'll do my best not to accept a solution that results in you completely disappearing if you'll agree to do the same."

"What? You want to have a vicious, murdering thug be part of your life?"

Daria sighed. "You already are."

X X X X X

The next time Daria was aware, after the dream where she talked with Faith, she was in the same room, and Dr. Vaughn was once again sitting across the table from her. "Look down, Daria," the doctor said.

Written on a piece of paper in front if her were the words, "The dental records match. I'm you, you're me. Like we hadn't already figured that out." Faith was right. The dental records were just a formality. "Also, Told the doc we talked. She didn't believe it. She said it was just a dream. Prove her wrong."

Daria said, "Faith's in jail for two counts of murder. She's serving 25 to life. And she doesn't clearly remember April 10, 1997, any more than I do. She says that when you had her under she said that was the day she was born. Which I guess also makes it the day I died. Until you brought me back a week or so ago." She looked steadily into Dr. Vaughn's brown eyes. "How does it feel to have the power of life and death, Dr. Frankenstein?"

"I don't kill you," the psychiatrist said.

"It feels like it. When one doesn't exist except at the whim of someone else, one could reasonably said to be dead in the interim. Every time you say 'Jake, Helen, Quinn,' to Faith, I spring to life. And every time you say 'Faith Ellen Lehane' to me, I die again. It's the reverse for Faith."

"I'm not doing this just for the hell of it, Daria," Dr. Vaughn said.

"That actually isn't that much of a comfort." After letting that sink in, Daria said, "So. The only way to fix this problem is to figure out what happened during the missing day. Faith's recollections are spotty, but they're better than mine. The last thing I remember is reading my copy of Samuel R. Delany's _Dhalgren_. Kind of prophetic, actually. But that was the night of April 9."

"That's what I'm trying to do," Dr. Vaughn said.

"Good. So we're in agreement. So. What happened to my family?"


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: In Buffyverse terms, this takes place between _Intervention_ and the season-ending arc starting with _Tough Love._ (I'm assuming a decent-length gap.) In terms of Angel, it's still before _Belonging_ and will be for another few weeks..

Disclaimer: _Buffy_ and _Angel_ are the creations of Joss Whedon. Daria is the creation of Glenn Eichler. Lynette Vaughn, Bonita Juarez, and Carla Fisk are mine, as is the plot.

X X X X X

Lynette Vaughn hadn't believed Faith when she'd said she'd talked to Daria in her dreams. When Daria proved it, though, by saying things that she never would have known, Lynette changed her mind fairly quickly.

She knew of cases where the personalities communicated by leaving messages, the way Faith had done for Daria; she also knew cases where some personalities were aware of being splits, and others weren't. She'd never heard of the two personalities communicating with each other via their dreams. This could be an indication that the Daria aspect of the personality might be asserting itself a bit more.

In any event, Faith and Daria were jumping the gun, as far as Lynette was concerned. She'd been hoping to bring out the truth about April 10, 1997 gently, by use of further hypnosis if necessary. Telling Daria what Willard Jay Harbaugh had done to her family was something that would be a tremendous shock. Faith already suspected the truth, but of course her memories of that day were distorted.

But now she _knew_ her memories of the day were distorted.

"If you're going to sit there in silence," Daria said in her near-monotone, "Could you at least provide something entertaining for me to do while I wait? I can only count the number of tiles in the ceiling so many times before boredom begins to set in. Insanity, of course, has already put in an appearance."

"Sorry, Daria," Lynette said, "Just trying to figure out how to answer your question."

"Since I asked you what happened to my family, I would presume the answer would be what happened to my family. But perhaps the English language has changed since I've been away."

"I'm not sure you're ready to hear about it," Lynette said. "Exposure to the events of the day could be what triggered your personality shift in the first place."

"And if we were doing a re-enactment, I'd go along with that," Daria said. "But what I want is after-the-fact reporting. Edit if you wish. I'm sure you plan to anyway." When Lynette didn't answer right away, Daria said, "Faith has already told me she thinks they're dead."

"What do you think?"

"I'm refusing to think about it until I have proof either way," Daria said, her voice betraying some emotion for the first time.

Daria Morgendorffer was usually hard to read, but now was an exception. She was desperately afraid that her parents were dead, and was afraid that Lynette was going to confirm that.

But she still wanted to be told the truth. Daria was one of those people who prided herself on relying on her intellect to run her life. She didn't pretend not to have emotions; she just refused to let them master her.

Right now, Daria's intellect was telling her that learning the truth about her family would be better for her in the long run. Her emotions disagreed. But her emotions were not in charge.

Lynette didn't tell Daria any of this. "Are you sure you want to know?" she asked, giving Daria one more chance to back out.

It was a chance Daria refused to take. "Of course not. Tell me anyway."

Taking a deep breath, Lynette said, "At 9 PM on April 10, 1997, a man named Willard Jay Harbaugh kicked down the front door of your home in Highland. You were away at the time -- doing one final project for English with two of your classmates. I hate to tell you this, Daria, but Faith was right. Harbaugh killed your father, then your sister, and then your mother. He then stole all the money and jewelry in the house and left."

Daria closed her eyes. "_Dammit!" _she said. It was several minutes until she said anything else. Lynette felt that saying anything here would be counterproductive, so she simply set herself to wait for Daria.

"Did they catch him?" she finally asked.

"Yes. They did. He's on death row now."

Daria said, "I don't believe in the death penalty. In his case, I think I'll make an exception." Then, "What happened to me?"

"Apparently you came home around 9:45 --"

"It was about a fifteen-minute walk from my house to the house where those two morons usually holed up," Daria said. "So I must have left about 9:30."

"They confirmed that, later," Lynette said. "Anyway, someone saw you getting on a bus to Nashville. From there, no one knows. The next time you resurfaced was in here about a week ago." After a second, she asked, "Has this triggered anything?"

"I wish I could tell you it had," Daria said. "If it does, I promise to tell you, Now. Could you do me two favors?"

"What are they?"

"One, tell Faith what you told me. Her memories of April 10 may be way off base, but that's better than the nothing I'm working with. And two, could you leave the room for a few minutes? I'd like to grieve for my parents and sister and I'd really rather do it in private."

Lynette acceded to both requests, and left the room.

When she looked through the window, Daria had her head down on the table.

Lynette couldn't tell if she was crying.

X X X X X

Bonita Juarez shook the hand of the young woman who was entering her office. "Carla Fisk, ADA," the woman said. She was medium-height with short blonde hair.

"Bonita Juarez. Everyone calls me Bonnie."

The woman sat down and opened her briefcase. "You told the office you had concerns about one of your prisoners. Faith Lehane, currently doing 25-life for two counts of 2nd-degree murder?"

"That's the one," Bonita said. "We've discovered something very interesting about her." She gave Ms. Fisk a quick summary of what Lynette had found out -- and what she'd found out through her contacts at the LAPD.

When she was done, Fisk sat for a second in stunned silence. "When you said you 'had concerns,' you didn't tell me you had an unexploded nuclear bomb."

Bonita said, "I'm sorry if I didn't properly prepare you, but this was something I didn't want to get out. I realize how big a problem this can be."

"I'm not entirely sure you do," the ADA said. "This could get national attention. Willard Harbaugh's rampage made national news -- and so did Daria Morgendorffer's disappearance. Finding her would be just as big. Finding her in the LA penal system for committing two murders of her own would be bigger. Finding out she's suffering from multiple personality disorder would kick the JonBenet Ramsey murder off the front page. People'll be discussing this for _weeks_, if not months."

"And that completely leaves aside the question of what happens to her. Whether you let her out or lock her up someone'll be screaming about it either way."

"Is there _any _chance that this is all part of some scam Lehane's running?"

Bonita said, "If we were just relying on Dr. Vaughn's opinion, I'd say maybe. I'd give you 200-1 odds against it being a scam, but I couldn't completely rule it out. Once you toss in the dental records, though --"

"Yeah." After a second, "This is a completely new area for me. The woman confessed to two murders and proved it by giving details never released to the public. But she may have been legally insane when she made the confession, just she and no one else knew it." She shook her head. "What's Faith Lehane's reaction to all of this been?"

"From everything I hear, she still wants to serve out her sentence," Bonita said. "She had the usual 'new meat fight, but after she pounded the hell out of the first girl to come after her no one's fucked with her since, and she's been a model prisoner. Another reason it's not likely to be some kind of con job."

"What about Daria Morgendorffer?"

"I haven't had a chance to talk to Morgendorffer."

"I think I'd like to," Fisk said.

"That shouldn't be a problem -- actually, Dr. Vaughn's in the building now. I realize this is short notice, but --"

Fisk checked her watch and then said, "I have the time."

Bonita got up. "Let's go, then."

X X X X X

"You're kidding," Cordelia said. Telling Cordelia was kind of a necessary first step. They'd already told Gunn. It was easier because Gunn had never met Faith and so didn't have any emotional stake in the issue.

"I'm not," Angel said. "And Wesley isn't, either."

Since he and Wesley realized they weren't legal experts, they contacted the best criminal defense attorney they could find who met two criteria. 1, he or she had to have some expert in dealing with insanity pleas; and 2, the attorney had to have absolutely no affiliation whatever with Wolfram & Hart. (Like all big law firms, Wolfram & Hart had "unofficial affiliations" for those cases it wouldn't look good for them to touch.)

They finally found their woman: Maggie Silber. Mrs. Silber had been intrigued enough by Angel and Wesley's description that she'd agreed to try to get in and meet Faith _pro bono_. If Faith officially asked for legal representation, then they'd have to try to arrange some sort of payment.

"I always knew she was a nutjob," Cordelia said. "And I was right. I just didn't know what _kind_ of nutjob. So she's a split personality instead of a raving psychotic. What business is it of ours?"

"We help the helpless," Angel said. "Kind of our mission statement. Remember?"

"Faith's about as helpless as a rabid wolverine."

"What about Daria?" Angel asked. "She kind of got dragged along for the ride here."

"Yeah. Look. If you want to help her, I'll help you do it. Just don't ask me to like it."

"This isn't Faith trying to fool us," Wesley said. "There is another woman under there who genuinely needs our help."

"I believe you," Cordelia said. "Doesn't make what she did to any of us any easier to get past, though. I mean, she tortured you."

"I know. My reactions for the days immediately following were heavily tinged with my own guilt for not having done anything to prevent it. Had I not felt that shame it's quite likely I would have followed your lead and taken a sabbatical."

"Your anger sounded real enough to me, Wes," Angel said.

"It was. But it was anger at myself, not at you and not at Faith. And certainly not at Miss Morgendorffer."

After a pause, Angel said, "And now, if you'll excuse me, it's time to take my life in my hands." Cordelia and Wesley beat a hasty retreat.

Angel reached for the phone and made the call he'd been dreading. "Hey. Dawn. Is Buffy around?"


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: If you don't recognize them, they're mine. If you do recognize them, they belong to either Joss Whedon or Glenn Eichler.

X X X X X

The doc had just told her what happened at the Morgendorffer place (she still couldn't think of it as 'home') on April 10, 1997.

"Now, Faith," she said. "Does this trigger _any_ memories? Because Daria's still stuck on April 9."

Faith was about to say no when an image flashed into her head:

Her mother, lying on the floor, but instead of dead, dying. Face covered in blood. Red hair. Much nicer clothes than she'd ever remembered.

She looked up when Faith came into the room. "Sweetie," she gasped out.

That's where the image ended. But it was different from what she'd been remembering for years, so she told Dr. Vaughn what she'd just seen.

"I realize it ain't much," she said.

The doc acted like Faith had just discovered a cure for cancer. "This is big, Faith," she said. "It could be the first step towards --"

"Towards getting rid of me forever? Sorry, doc, can't see the upside." Faith was fairly sure _Daria_ could be trusted to keep her word about making sure Faith didn't disappear, and Faith was going to keep her word back, but she wasn't so sure about the doc.

She knew Dr. Vaughn could be trusted to do the right thing. But Faith kinda thought maybe her idea of the right thing and the doc's might not be compatible.

"Towards integrating you," Dr. Vaughn said. "Towards making you one person again."

"I ain't sure that would work, though. While Daria and me, we've come to some sort of understanding, I don't know if the person I was and the person I am have a whole hell of a lot in common. Other than, apparently, a knack for keeping people from getting too close. Only she does it by bein' sarcastic and I do it by beating the shit out of them."

The doc opened her mouth, but there was a knock on the door before she could say anything. She went over to the door and looked through the window, then stepped outside for a couple of minutes. When she got back, there were two other women with her. One was the prison warden – Juarez, Faith thought her name was. She'd never seen the other one.

"I'm sorry to have to interrupt our session, Faith," Dr. Vaughn said.

"No prob. I know you wouldn't let it happen without a good reason."

"Faith," the warden said. "This is Carla Fisk with the LA County District Attorney's office. We've been discussing your situation."

Looking at the DA, Faith said, "I haven't changed my mind. I still plan on servin' out my full sentence, whatever that turns out to be."

"That may not be your call, Ms. Lehane," the attorney said. "This is extremely complex and Ms. Morgendorffer's wishes are also important here."

"I killed two people," Faith said. Actually, she'd killed three, but she hadn't been able to figure out how to confess to the guy in the airport. Also, the Mayor's vamps had disposed of the body, anyway. "I got some serious time to put in to make up for that."

"You may be one of the first prisoners I've ever met who said they were guilty and wasn't on a religious kick," the attorney said. "Anyway, I haven't made any decisions yet. I need to talk to Daria Morgendorffer first."

Faith looked at the doc. "Bring it on, then."

"Not quite yet," DA Fisk said. "I need to talk to you for a few minutes, also."

Faith grinned. "Doing a comparison, huh? Seeing if maybe you can trip us up?"

"There's always the chance that this is all some kind of act," DA Fisk said.

"Sure there is. That ain't the case, but I don't blame you for wanting to check."

They talked for about ten minutes about the case, her life, prison, and Daria, and then the DA said, "I think that's enough for the moment. Dr. Vaughn, would you mind bringing Daria out?"

Dr. Vaughn looked at Faith to make sure she was okay with this. When Faith nodded her head, the doc said, "Jake, Helen, Qui—"

X X X X X

"This is good," Daria said when she came back to herself. "Two new people. I see you've granted my request for entertainment." She looked at the two women. "I'm Daria Morgendorffer. And you are?"

The short Hispanic woman said that she was Bonita Juarez, the prison's warden. The blonde woman introduced herself as Carla Fisk, ADA. "But we're not here for your entertainment, Miss Morgendorffer."

Daria said, "Every time before now when I've come to I was in this room facing Dr. Vaughn. Trust me, any break from the routine is entertaining."

The warden and the ADA looked at each other before the warden said, "You were right about one thing, Lynette. She's nothing like Faith."

"Except for this body we're inconveniently sharing," Daria said. "Now. Why are you here? Presuming you're not actually here to entertain me, I'd say that you're not just visiting me for your own amusement either. Unless you're tremendously bored and don't have cable."

"No," Dr. Vaughn said. "Now that we've confirmed that you and Faith are split personalities, Warden Juarez has taken the step of contacting the DA office so we can see where to go next."

Daria looked at ADA Fisk and the warden. "Honestly, I would have expected something like this to be swept under the rug."

The ADA said, "You're quite cynical, Miss Morgendorffer."

"I prefer to think of myself as a realist. And, realistically, having something like this happen can't possibly bring good publicity to anyone involved. Not to me, not to you, not to anyone. So I'd be surprised if quietly sticking me in a back room hadn't been discussed at some point along the way."

"It was," the warden said. "Briefly. And then dismissed." Daria was surprised and pleased by the honesty.

"That doesn't mean that this is going to end with you free to walk the street," ADA Fisk said. "But it won't be because we're trying to make sure you don't embarrass us. I promise you that." Daria believed that the woman believed what she was saying.

Which still didn't mean that someone else, somewhere along the line, might not decide that burying the problem was easiest for everyone involved.

"I'll accept that for now. So. You came to talk to me. What would you like to discuss?" She grinned slightly. "If it's the X-Files, I'm sorry to have to tell you that I'm about four seasons behind the times."

"You haven't missed much," the ADA said, shocking her. "They still haven't given us any clear answers of the main conspiracy. And David Duchovny's not on the show full-time any more anyway." Then her face got serious. "The first thing I came here to figure out is whether this was some kind of ploy on your part to get out of jail."

"The dental records match," the warden said.

"So that proves that Daria and Faith are the same person," ADA Fisk said. "That doesn't prove that "Faith" isn't completely fictional and that instead of being a split personality Miss Morgendorffer isn't just a hell of an actress."

Daria blinked when she heard this. The woman couldn't be serious. "Ah yes. Following your somewhat Byzantine chain of logic, why wouldn't I have brought this out when I confessed?"

"Because you were saving your performance for after you'd gotten on our good side by voluntarily confessing to two murders."

Daria said sarcastically, "Yes. I can see how that would get the police to like me. Perhaps had I confessed to more murders they would have thrown me a parade." Then she had a thought. "Are you saying this because you believe it, or just to see how I'd react?"

"More the second than the first," the ADA admitted.

"Consider my chain yanked. Are you now convinced that Faith and I are different?" Daria asked.

"As much as I can be given a five-minute interview. The most important thing to me is that Dr. Vaughn is convinced."

"I am," Dr. Vaughn said. "Completely. Curing her could be a long process. But I am absolutely convinced that until last week Faith Lehane had no knowledge that she was born Daria Morgendorffer. I am also convinced that Ms. Morgendorffer has approximately a four-year gap in her memories."

"The last day I remember is April 9, 1997," Daria said. "Faith remembers April 10 but her memories are obviously wrong."

Dr. Vaughn looked at ADA Fisk. "Do you think you could get us the case files from whatever DA's office ended up handling the Willard Jay Harbaugh case? It's possible they might trigger some buried memories. Either in Faith or Daria."

The ADA thought for a second and said, "That can't hurt. I can't guarantee they'll cooperate, but I'll do what I can."

She stood up. Obviously, the interview had come to an end. Daria was fairly sure she believed that she and Faith were separate individuals – otherwise she'd have put off Dr. Vaughn's request with some excuse.

Daria nodded to both of the unfamiliar women. "Warden. ADA Fisk. I can't say it was a pleasure to meet you, under the circumstances, but it did break up the monotony for a brief period, and for that, I _am_ grateful."

"Are you always this cynical?" ADA Fisk asked.

Daria judged the question to be out of genuine interest, not hostility. "No. This is me actually trying to be helpful. You haven't seen me when I'm at the top of my game."

"Strong men tremble?" The ADA asked.

"And weak ones weep." Daria allowed the shadow of a smile to cross her face.

They left and soon enough it was time to bid memory goodbye for a while. "Faith Ellen Leha—"

X X X X X

As they walked back to her office, Bonita Juarez asked Carla Fisk, "Are you convinced?"

"I'm convinced. I just don't want to get their hopes up."

Bonita said, "What clinched it for you?"

"Dr. Vaughn's opinion got me most of the way," Fisk said. "The rest of it was seeing how they both reacted when I told them I thought it might all be an act. The Daria personality had no clue that I was going to say anything like that. If that look of shock on her face was faked, then she's a better actress than Meryl Streep."

X X X X X

They met in their dreams again.

"Am I a Morgendorffer dreaming she is a Lehane, or a Lehane dreaming she is a Morgendorffer?"

"Six of one, half a dozen of the other."

"You understood the reference?"

"People keep thinkin' I'm stupid. I wasn't expectin' me to think I was stupid. I saw it in a meditation book."

"I don't think you're stupid, Faith. I think you're uneducated. Although at this point you probably have more of an education than I do."

"Maybe. I still got a way to go before I can take the GED. So, what'd you and the DA talk about? She was gone when I got back."

"Me, you, what she was going to do for us, and whether I was a lying, scheming bitch. And the X-Files."

"You're shittin' me."

"No. Apparently David Duchovny's not a regular anymore."

"That ain't what I meant. She ran the same line past me. She was checkin' out our reactions. I know you got a bit of a stone face, but did she look like she believed you?"

"She did. Trust me, the shock showed. Tell me, did Dr. Vaughn give you the details on the day my parents –"

"On the day our parents died? Yeah. Actually got something from that. Not much, but the doc says it's a start."

"That's good. She also got the ADA to agree to give us some of the behind-the-scenes details on the case against the man who killed them. I'm still not remembering anything past the time I went to bed on April 9. So it's going to have to be you."

"I'll do my best. This ain't something that rational thought seems to do much good for, though."

"I know. Which is probably one of the reasons I'm doing so poorly at it."


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews, and thanks especially to those people who aren't familiar with Daria but are enjoying it anyway.

Disclaimer: _Buffy_ and _Angel_ characters Joss'; _Daria_ characters Glenn Eichler's; Lynette Vaughn, Bonita Juarez, Carla Disk, and Maggie Silber mine. Plot mine.

X X X X X

Finally, Buffy came to the phone. "Angel? Is everything okay?"

"Depends on what you mean by 'okay.' There's no screaming emergency and I don't you to come up here to help me fight off an apocalypse." Angel figured he had to broach this gingerly.

"Good. We're dealing with one of our own right now." Buffy had vaguely alluded to it when he'd come down for Joyce Summers' funeral a couple of months back.

"Is it May already? And do you need _my_ help?"

"Not right yet. I'll let you know if I do, though."

"You know I'll be there."

"I know." After a brief period of silence, Buffy prodded him: "You called me for a reason, right?"

"Yeah. I've got some news about Faith."

"Good or bad?" Buffy asked.

"News. Whether it's good or bad depends on your reaction . . . and whether you've softened any towards her since last spring."

Angel could hear Buffy's sigh. "I'd be lying if I said she was my favorite person in the world. But ever since I saw her confessing in that police station, I can't really say I hate her any more. What's the news?"

Angel had been planning how to say the next sentence for days. "Faith wasn't born Faith."

"She changed her name?" Buffy asked. Angel still loved her in many ways, but every once in a while she could still live up to the "blonde" cliché. "No; you wouldn't call me if it were something that trivial."

"Well, she did change her name, but not voluntarily." And Angel went on to explain about the split personality, about the dental records, and about Daria Morgendorffer.

When he was done, the other end was quiet for so long Angel wondered if they'd been disconnected. "I knew she had a screw loose," Buffy said. "I didn't know it was a whole bucket's worth."

"Buffy –" Angel said a little irritably.

"No," Buffy said. "That wasn't a shot at her. I knew she had problems. I didn't realize how deep they went. Wow." After a second. "And Wesley knew about this?"

"He did."

"When's the funeral?"

Angel said, "No funeral. He feels horrible about not telling anyone."

"He should. If we'd known earlier, we might have been able to help her. Either with a psychiatrist or magically."

"No arguments there. Wesley realizes how badly he screwed up. That's why we've gotten one of the best criminal defense attorneys in LA to agree to go in and talk to Faith."

"Shouldn't you be calling her Daria?"

"I suppose I should," Angel said. "But it doesn't feel quite natural yet." After a second, Angel added, "I'm glad you're not acting like this is all kind of scam on Faith's part."

"Oh, trust me, part of me thinks that," Buffy said. "The rest of me knows you wouldn't bother telling me this, knowing what my history with Faith is, if you didn't have enough evidence to overcome any hysterical objections on my part." Another pause, and then Buffy said, "Do you remember when we fooled her into thinking you'd become Angelus again?"

"Yes." It was almost impossible for Angel to forget. That incident, important as it had been for derailing Richard Wilkins and his plans for Ascension, had been the final straw for any possible relationship between Buffy and Angel. No matter how much he'd told himself that sex with Faith had been necessary, and as much as Buffy told herself the same thing, things just hadn't been the same after that.

"When she was taunting me I told her that I never knew she had such rage inside her. Back then I thought it simply came from her twisted jealousy over what she thought I had and she didn't. Now . . . what the hell happened to her?"

Angel said, "Her parents and sister were brutally murdered."

"That can't be it," Buffy said. "That can't be all of it, anyway."

"Unfortunately, there's not a lot I can do to figure it out beyond that," Angel said. "That's up to Faith, Daria, and her psychiatrist."

"I hope they figure it out," Buffy said. "She deserves to know who she is."

Angel couldn't disagree. "I was actually worried about telling you. But I thought you had to know."

"I understand why, and thanks." After a second, "I'm assuming you'd rather me break the news to everyone else?"

"Yes. Please."

X X X X X

Bonita Juarez looked at the gray-haired woman who'd just entered her office. The woman was clearly unhappy, although she didn't seem like she was about to start screaming. She'd introduced herself as Maggie Silber and said she'd been retained as counsel for Faith Lehane, "aka Daria Morgendorffer."

When she'd said the last part, Bonita had almost jumped out of her seat. How the fuck had anyone else gotten hold of this information? As far as she knew the only people who knew about it were her, Lynette, Faith/Daria and Carla Fisk.

She reviewed them one by one. Faith/Daria hadn't had any visitors and was as much of a loner as anyone could be inside a prison. She had no friends in here, and her only visitor – a local private investigator, Angel something – hadn't been by in the last ten days.

Lynette's professional ethics were such that she'd risked contempt of court citations repeatedly in the past rather than violate doctor-patient privilege. (Lehane's sessions with Lynette weren't exactly confidential, but that didn't mean Lynette was free to go blabbing about them to anyone who walked in off the street. And she wouldn't, either.)

Carla Fisk? Possible, she supposed, but highly unlikely; the woman had been as leery of bad publicity as Bonita herself had been.

And Bonita knew she hadn't told anyone –

Wrong. She'd told her contact in the LAPD, who'd told their dentist. The dentist, she was sure, wouldn't have known the whole story. That meant her contact had been talking.

At least he hadn't been telling it to everyone, or it would have gone public by now. And Bonita knew that he wouldn't have directly gone to a lawyer on Lehane's behalf.

But he'd obviously told _someone_.

"Mrs. Silber," she said, shaking the attorney's hand, "Obviously we had no idea you were going to show up or you wouldn't have had to come to my office. As far as we knew, Faith Lehane hadn't hired a new attorney."

"She didn't," Mrs. Silber said crisply. "I obviously can't tell you who did."

"You realize that if Lehane didn't hire you herself that she doesn't have to see you, right?"

"Of course. At which point I'll tell whoever hired me that, and go home. But if it's convenient –"

Bonita was confident in her ability to manage a prison, but she didn't have all of the prisoners' schedules memorized. "One moment, please," she said, looking up Faith Lehane's schedule in her computer. "She's in her GED class right now. She should be done in about fifteen minutes. I don't want to pull her out of it. I can have one of the guards escort her to the lawyers' visiting area once she's done. What she does after that is entirely up to her, of course." Lehane still seemed determined to serve her full sentence; if Mrs. Silber had shown up two weeks ago, she would have told the lawyer to go to hell.

But things were different now.

"That'll be fine, Warden Juarez," the attorney said. "If you don't mind, I'd like to go back and review my notes on the case before I actually meet Ms. Lehane."

They said goodbye to each other, and Maggie Silber left the office.

As soon as she was gone, Bonita got up and shut the door. She made three phone calls.

The first was to the guard station nearest the prison classrooms. She ordered them to take Lehane to lawyer's visiting area one.

The second was to Carla Fisk. She had to let the DA know that time might not be on their side. Ms. Fisk swore, thanked Bonita for telling her, and hung up.

The third was to her friend inside the LAPD. "So, Larry," she said. "What part of 'keep this a secret' were you having trouble understanding . . . ?"

X X X X X

"Miss Lehane?" The woman speaking looked to be about sixty, Faith guessed. She had gray hair and wore thick glasses, but definitely looked like a woman who worked out. Woman had muscle tone.

Faith had been surprised when the guards had said she'd had a visitor; even more surprised when she was taken not to the usual visitors' room but to the area where lawyers met with their clients. There was a videocamera monitoring the room in case a lawyer tried to slip something to a client -- whether drugs, a weapon, or some other definition of "slip" entirely -- but no sound. Lawyer-client privilege still held.

"That's me."

"My name's Maggie Silber," the woman said. "I'm an attorney who specializes in cases like yours."

Suspicious, Faith said, "How do you know what kind of case I got?"

"A friend of yours asked me to look into your situation once he found out about your condition."

"My multiple personalities. You don't gotta try and spare my feelings, counselor. And I'm guessing this friend's name would be Angel."

"How did you know that?"

Laughing bitterly, Faith said, "When you only got one friend, it's not hard to guess. How'd he find out about it?"

"He didn't tell me. He explained your situation and asked me if I'd represent you. Now, if you don't want my help -- I was told you admitted to two murders and didn't try to make any sort of plea bargain because you wanted to redeem yourself?"

Faith said, "Yeah. I did bad things, counselor. I need to make up for 'em." After a second, "Dammit. I want to tell you to leave but I can't do that anymore."

"Why not?" Maggie Silber seemed genuinely curious.

"Because it ain't just about what Faith wants anymore. There's two people inside this body, not just one. I need to find out what Daria wants too. And the doc -- Dr. Vaughn -- she's not around to set off the change and she's the only one who can."

"That's not typical for multiple personalities," the lawyer said.

"So I've been told. But it's the case here. Daria only comes out when the doc says a code phrase and then I only come back when she says another one. Anyway, I guess I'll let you represent me for the moment. At least until Daria makes her wishes known. Meantime, the warden brought in an ADA -- woman named Fisk. She seemed kinda sympathetic, but at least you can talk to her."

"Okay. I'll do that. Now that we have that out of the way, I have some questions for you . . ."

X X X X X

That night, Daria and Faith shared their dreams again. They talked for awhile, discussed Maggie Silber, and came to some decisions.

X X X X X

Dr. Vaughn walked into the conference room. She'd passed on her other cases -- except those that were still making their way through the court system -- to colleagues. She wanted to concentrate on helping Faith and Daria become one whole person again. The kind of person Faith was would be very hard for a girl like Daria to accept. Daria was cynical, sarcastic and pretended to have seen it all. But it would be very hard to do that when confronted with some of Faith's actions. Daria knew that Faith was sexually active and had killed two people. She hadn't yet been confronted with the full scope of her behavior.

"So how have things been going?"

"I assume you've heard about the lawyer who came here yesterday?" Faith said in an even tone.

"Yes. Have you decided what you're going to do about it?"

"I'm taking her up on her offer. She's going to talk with ADA Fisk and we're going to see where it goes from there."

Something wasn't right here. "Is everything alright, Faith?"

And then Faith gave a Mona Lisa smile. "You're not talking to Faith."


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note: Now we examine the dream Faith and Daria had before Dr. Vaughn showed up at the end of part 8.

Disclaimer: 'tain't mine. Except for the original characters and the plot.

X X X X X

Earlier, in their dream: The first thing they did was, Faith caught Daria up on their new lawyer. "I didn't want to make any final commitments till I could hash it out with you," she said.

"I appreciate that," Daria said. "And as far as I'm concerned she can represent us." After a minute or so, when Faith didn't answer, Daria went on, "Faith. I realize you want to make up for your crimes. But I didn't commit these crimes. And I have nothing to make up for. We need to find some sort of compromise that lets you work on your redemption while still not punishing me."

Faith said, "Yeah, I get that. That's something else we need to talk about. But not right now, okay?"

"Given our location, we have nothing but time," Daria said.

"You mean the dream or the jail?"

Daria shrugged. "It fits both."

Faith then said, "Look, I know this might be uncomfortable, but – have you had enough time to deal with what happened to our family?" Instinctually, Faith still didn't think of Jake, Helen and Quinn as "her family." But they were. And she figured if she talked about them like they were, maybe it'd help her think about them that way, too.

"Of course not. Dr. Vaughn gave me five minutes alone to cry. I've barely been able to accept it, let alone deal with it." A beat, then "Never mind dealing with it in a quote-unquote healthy manner. Of course, that was never my strength anyway."

"Do you need the time?"

"I've cried as much as I'm going to at the moment. Everything else is going to have to happen internally – and I don't have a whole hell of a lot of time to do that." Then, looking around the apartment, she asked, "Why do we always end up here?"

"Remember when I told you I'd worked for the Mayor of Sunnydale?" Faith asked. Daria nodded. "Well, before that I was stayin' in this shithole motel 'cause it's all I could afford. Mayor got me these swanky digs. Some reason, whenever I have an important dream, I go here."

"You've had important dreams before?" Daria wasn't even sure she understood the concept. What could an important dream be? One that foretold the future – but that was the realm of pure fantasy.

Faith tried to figure out how to explain it without getting into the fact that she was a vampire Slayer.

Then she gave up. Daria was going to have to know about this someday. "Daria," she said a bit tentatively. "I got something to tell you that I ain't sure you're gonna like."

"I already know you're a robber, thug, and murderer," Daria said, trying to say the words neutrally. "I already know you bring new meanings to the word 'promiscuous." Daria had thought she'd been beyond stunned when Faith had described her crimes. ("And I ain't told you about nearly all of them," she'd said. "I've been a bad person.") When Faith had described her sexual proclivities, she'd reached a whole new level of astonishment. Daria had never been anti-sex, but she'd always felt that sex was the kind of thing you only did with someone with whom you were truly intimate. And seeing that she'd never met anyone who she'd want to let in, it was never something she'd really thought about.

Finding out that Faith not only didn't remember how many men she'd had sex with, but that she didn't even remember the first time she'd had it, was amazing – and showed her how different the two of them really were. She was almost hoping they didn't integrate their personalities, because she had no idea how she would handle directly knowing about all of these things.

"I don't think this is worse," Faith said, knowing Daria was doing her damnedest not to sound judgmental. Girl was failing miserably, but Faith gave her credit for trying. "This is just different. And it sounds insane."

"Ah. As opposed to all the sanity that surrounds us now."

"No. I mean seriously whacked. But it's the truth, I swear." She took a deep breath and said, "You know what vampires are?"

"Bloodsucking fiends who feed on human misery," Daria said. "No, wait. That's politicians."

Faith chuckled and said, "They're real."

"So Election Day isn't just another excuse for a day off from school?"

"I meant vampires," Faith said.

"I know." Faith had been right about one thing; this definitely sounded insane.

"Just listen," Faith said. "Any questions, hold 'em till I'm done." Daria definitely didn't seem like she believed Faith, but she wasn't telling Faith to knock off the crazy talk, either.

"Time for another epic miniseries?" Daria asked. She figured she might as well let Faith tell her story. It wasn't like she had anything else to do.

"Just fillin' in the gaps in the first one," Faith said. "Boy, Giles and Wes would laugh if they could see me now. Me, givin' the story of vampires on Earth." On the other hand, maybe they'd be happy she'd picked up so much along the way. "First thing you need to know is what vampires are," Faith began.

Dreamtime was, in a sense, timeless. Faith had no idea how long she talked, only that it was for quite a while. She explained what Watchers were, what Slayers were, what vampires were – she touched on the other magical creatures along the way, but the vamps were the most important.

She also went over her "life story" again, this time explaining that her 'temporary guardian had been her Watcher – this brought out Daria's one interruption, when she said, "Told you temporary didn't start with a W—" that Kakistos had been a vamp and not a gang leader, and so on.

This also let her get into how badly she'd screwed B and her friends – and why she'd been so convinced she was evil when she tried to get Angel to kill her.

When Faith was done, Daria looked at her in bewilderment. "Are you sure you're not delusional?"

"Do I sound delusional?"

"No. Sane people talk about vampires and demons all the time as though they were real." The thing was, though, Faith wasn't showing any of the signs of that level of insanity. Daria knew damn well that people could seem perfectly normal and be otherwise, but this? She'd heard of people creating castles in the air; if this was all in Faith's head, she hadn't just stopped at creating castles, she'd created an entire damn kingdom.

And if it was in Faith's head, it was in her head.

"I'm guessing," Daria went on, "That you've never mentioned any of this to Dr. Vaughn."

"I ain't in the mental ward, Daria," Faith said. "I may be headin' there soon, but I ain't there yet."

"Good point. Faith, look, it's not that I don't believe you –"

"'course it is," Faith said. "I wouldn't've believed it either. Hell, even after I'd killed my first vamp I didn't completely believe it. But it's the truth. I got mental problems – I had 'em even before I found that that I was rentin' space in your body without an option to buy – but bein' delusional ain't one of 'em."

Daria asked, "Have you ever heard of Occam's Razor?" Daria was doing her best to go my the presumption that Faith was not, in fact, stupid. Faith said she hadn't. "Occam's razor says that the simplest explanation that fits all the available evidence is the most likely one to be true. Robert Heinlein put it another way: "Hear hoofbeats, expect horses, not zebras. And right now I'm hearing a rodeo."

Faith got the gist. "So you're saying it's more likely I'm out of my skull than it is that vampires exist."

"Hey. It's my skull too." After a second, "But yes."

"Are you at least willing to let me try and prove it to you otherwise?"

"Sure," Daria said. "But I don't see how. Unless Dr. Vaughn's a demon of some kind."

"She isn't," Faith said. "A couple of the girls in here are part demon but it ain't their demon half that put 'em in here." Along the way, Faith had pointed out that not all demons were inherently evil. A lot of 'em, sure. But they weren't like vampires where there was exactly one you could trust.

"Then and now are the only times I get out," Daria said. "I feel like someone's elderly relative who only gets wheeled out for special occasions, and when they're over, gets shut back in the attic." After a second, "And it's not like now really counts anyway. This is the dreamworld. You could probably show me aliens." After a second, "Are there aliens?"

"None I've seen so far," Faith said. "Though I wouldn't be surprised if some demon or two hadn't decided to run that as a scam to suck in the flyin' saucer freaks." Faith got Daria's point, though. It'd be hard to prove to Daria that vampires existed if all she ever got to see was the inside of a prison meeting room. "I dunno how I'm going prove otherwise to you, though. The demons in here're scared to death of me 'cause they think I'm here to kill 'em. Maybe I could get Angel to come and visit."

Faith had explained to Daria who Angel was. "Unless you can get them to let me out for more than an hour every two days, that's going to be impossible."

"Or unless we figure out how to switch back and forth between you and me," Faith said. "But that might mean you'd have to handle prison."

"You've already said everyone around here is afraid of you anyway," Daria said. "All I need to do is gaze at them menacingly." She smiled faintly. "Assuming your 'rep' is all it's cracked up to be, that is."

"Trust me on that. Even the girls who're out to prove something don't mess with me. I've been in two fights since I got here. First time was some girl heard how tough I was and wanted to prove she could take down the 'new meat.' Second time was four, five of the women who ran with the same crowd as the first one and wanted to make sure I knew my place. Once I took care of them – out in the yard, by the way, still took the guards five minutes to get there – no one's messed with me since. And I don't mess with any of them, either – I kinda keep to myself. I work out, and I study, and I work, and that's it."

"What kind of work do they have you doing?"

"Teacher's aide." Daria gave Faith an odd look and Faith said, "Yeah, I know. Like getting Gary Coleman an NBA gig. But they need someone to make their photocopies and take away the pencils once classes are over." Faith assumed that Daria didn't need to have that explained to her.

Daria said, "I think I can handle that. Except the working out part." Daria had always hated gym class. She walked almost everywhere she could back in Highland, which is how she kept to a healthy weight, but beyond that, the idea of voluntarily exercising wasn't one she found particularly appealing.

Faith had an idea. "No," she said. "You gotta work out, Daria. Remember I said vampire slayers are stronger than everyone else? If you get the chance, go over and pick up some of those weights. The kind you'd never think you could."

"I may not be an expert at weightlifting but I know if you do it wrong you can hurt yourself. And despite my generally depressed nature, I am not in fact a fan of pain. At least, not my own."

Faith smirked at Daria's last comment. "Just pick up a few dumbbells, then. They got some pretty heavy ones out there." She did a couple of phantom one-arm dumbbell moves to make sure Daria got the moves.

"I will," Daria said. "Of course, that assumes we're ever able to let me assume control over my own body. Any ideas?"

Grinning, Faith said, "I got one."

And she reached forward and pinched Daria.

And Daria woke up.

X X X X X

Daria got through Faith's day without anyone being able to tell the difference. A couple of people gave her odd looks, but she mostly kept quiet.

She didn't exactly get any "alone time" as it was usually described, but the teacher's aide position was mostly mindless busywork, so she had plenty of time to think about her parents and her sister, and how they'd died – and how she hadn't been there.

She believed these feelings were sometimes referred to as "Survivor's Guilt." Understanding what it was called didn't make it any easier to get through.

When she got to the exercise area of the yard after lunch, Daria wandered over to the weight area. A guard supervised to make sure no one decided that the dumbbells would make good weapons. They were the only free weights around. Everything else looked like exercise equipment from ten – no, fourteen, by this point – years ago.

The dumbbells looked heavier than they were – or maybe that was superhuman strength.

Dammit, there was only going to be one way to know for sure. She put down the dumbbells and lay down on an open exercise machine. She set the weight at 150 pounds – which was the most she'd ever picked up.

She lifted it like it wasn't there. Whoa.

A couple of more repetitions and she set the machine at 300 pounds.

She felt a slight resistance – but only slight.

She went back and set it at maximum – 500 pounds.

Still easy. She felt like she could have lifted a whole lot more. Actually, she felt as though she could have picked up the entire machine.

When she got up – after doing enough lifts to make it look like she was really working out – one of the guards said, "No wonder no one messes with you, Lehane."

Daria simply raised an eyebrow as she walked away. She was barely sweating.

Okay, the superhuman strength was true . . . what about the vampires?

She was still thinking about this when it came time for her appointment with Dr. Vaughn.

As soon as the psychiatrist entered the room, Daria decided to stop pretending to be Faith.

"So how have things been going?" she asked Daria.

"I assume you've heard about the lawyer who came here yesterday?"

The doctor wasn't really paying attention yet. "Yes. Have you decided what you're going to do about it?" she said as she sat down.

"I'm taking her up on her offer," Daria said in her normal tone of voice. "She's going to talk with ADA Fisk and we're going to see where it goes from there."

Now Dr. Vaughn realized that something odd had happened. "Is everything alright, Faith?"

Daria decided to let the woman off the hook. "You're not talking to Faith."


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note: I have no idea about the layout or set up LA District Attorney's Office; I'm simply making something up that, I hope, sounds plausible.

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon created Faith; Glenn Eichler created Daria: I created Lynette Vaughn, Bonita Juarez, Carla Disk and Maggie Silber.

X X X X X

Lynette Vaughn said, "Daria?" hoping that there wasn't a third personality in the mix – but also wondering how they'd managed to change over themselves, and whether that would be good or bad. That Daria Morgendorffer and Faith Lehane had so far only been able to change personalities based on a specific external trigger was atypical, but not unheard of.

If they'd been able to do it deliberately --

"That would be me," Daria said. Well, that partially assuaged Lynette, but still left the other questions wide open.

"How did this happen?"

"A good magician never reveals her secrets," Daria said, smiling faintly.

"You're not a magician," Lynette said.

Still smiling, Daria said, "Faith disappeared and Daria appeared, and you don't know how I did it. If that's not magic, what is?"

"It could be a sign that your personalities are starting to integrate," Lynette said.

The smile vanished. Daria said, "I suppose that's possible. But I still don't have any of her memories and I'd be willing to bet cold hard cash that she doesn't have any of mine. And we're still no closer to figuring out what happened on April 10, 1997."

"So, how did you change personalities? This is the first time you've accomplished that without having me trigger it."

"As far as you know," Daria said teasingly. Then, before Lynette could say anything else, said, "Yes. It was the first time. And as far as how we did it . . . she pinched me."

Lynette didn't understand. "She pinched you?"

"We've already proven we can communicate in our dreams," Daria said. "We were talking about Maggie Silber and –" Daria hesitated for a moment, making Lynette wonder why – "some of the things she'd done, beyond the murders. Parenthetically, I realize she isn't a nice person, Dr. Vaughn. I know what she's capable of, and quite frankly, it horrifies me that on some level, that that's what _I'm_ capable of. Honestly, I'm not sure I want to be integrated, if integration would bring about an understanding of her thought processes." After a second, "In any event, at the end of the dream, we were actually trying to figure out if we could control the switch ourselves. Faith grinned, said she had an idea, and pinched me."

"And you woke up," Lynette said.

"And I woke up," Daria said. "And, honestly, you're the first person to notice the difference. I carried myself confidently and didn't talk much. I tried to emulate Faith's speech patterns when I had to. In other words, I tried to fake soundin' like she sounds –" and for that last phrase, she indeed sounded a good deal like Faith, minus the accent -- "but I couldn't do the voice. I have no idea how she acquired that thick Boston accent." The voices weren't close enough that anyone who was really paying attention couldn't have been able to tell the difference, but it had apparently fooled everyone else today.

"That happens a lot with DID," Lynette said. "One personality will speak in a completely different voice from the other – even to the point of having the voiceprints be distinct. Even a skilled voice mimic's voiceprint will be identifiable, no matter whose voice they're doing. Split personalities are different people."

"Believe me, I know that." Daria stared steadily into Lynette's eyes. "I assume I will not be finishing out this session."

"I need to talk to both you and Faith," Lynette said. "I was expecting to talk to Faith first, but I'm flexible. So, what have you been doing since you regained consciousness?"

"Besides Faith's daily routine, I've been thinking a lot about my parents – grieving, I guess, trying to come to terms that they're not only dead but they've been dead for nearly four years. What is today's date, anyway?"

"April 6, 2001," Lynette said. "Have you come to terms with it?"

"Do I accept that they're dead? Yes. Am I completely emotionally capable of dealing with that fact? Of course not. I suspect I won't for quite a while yet."

"And . . . have you discovered anything else?"

"I have one random memory that I absolutely cannot place," Daria said. "It may come from April 10, 1997, or it may come from somewhere else entirely. But the memory is of the word 'faith' written in large dark letters on a wall somewhere. An inside wall. Otherwise, my last memory is still reading _Dhalgren _on April 9."

Lynette jotted this down and made a note to ask Faith about it. This could be where the name had come from. She said as much to Daria, who said, "Of course. That's why I brought it up. By the way, I hope you don't object to Faith occasionally bringing me out," Daria said. "Because I like the idea of having some control over what's going on – no matter how small a measure of control it may be."

"I can understand that, Daria," Lynette said. "But you understand how dangerous it can be?"

"There are benefits to sharing a body with someone who has the kind of reputation Faith has," Daria said. "I think I can handle myself. If I can't, believe me, I'll tell you and we can work on it from there." After a second, "And I can see by the expression on your face that it's once again time for me to retreat to the nothingness whence I've been for the last four years."

There seemed to be a part of Daria that didn't think she'd ever regain full control of who she was, again. In a very real sense, she was right. Even if her personality dominated, she'd still have to deal with what Faith had done.

And that still left aside the question of what had happened that April 10.

"I do have to discuss some things with Faith," Lynette said. "Faith Ellen Leha-"

X X X X X

Carla Fisk was sitting in her tiny room in the LA County DA's office. She was fortunate she rated one at all, even at 37 with nearly 10 years' experience working there. She'd taken the job right out of law school, despite the more lucrative offers she'd gotten from various firms around California. (The one from Wolfram & Hart had been especially hard to turn down, but from what she'd heard of the place since she was glad she had.)

That she'd caught the Lehane case had been sheer luck. Bad luck, probably. Carla had just finished up a major case against a drug dealer – the result had been a mixed blessing, but the man would still be in jail for three years, at least – when Warden Juarez's call had come in. As she'd had the least on her plate of anyone in the vicinity, she'd been the one pegged to deal with it.

There was a knock on the door. "Come in," she said.

A well-toned woman of about sixty entered the room. "Ms. Fisk?" she said.

"Yes?"

"I'm Maggie Silber. I've been retained to represent Faith Lehane. I understand you're the one assigned to her case."

That Carla believed that Warden Juarez had done the right thing in calling her in no way stopped Carla from momentarily wishing that she were doing something more relaxing right now – like, say, jogging down the interstate during rush hour. "I am, though I wouldn't call it a case quite yet."

Carla half-rose from her seat and shook Mrs. Silber's hand, then they both sat down. "Why wouldn't you call it a case?"

"Because, at the moment, she's not on trial or scheduled to be on trial. I'm simply doing my best to scope out her situation and determine what the DA's office should do next."

"Fine," Mrs. Silber said. "How about contacting Daria Morgendorffer's surviving relatives?"

Inwardly, Carla cursed herself. Somehow, in looking up the details of the life of Daria Morgendorffer before and after she became Faith Lehane, she'd missed checking to see on what other relatives she might have. She didn't let it show, though simply saying, "I wasn't sure they'd want to see her in her current condition."

Mrs. Silber smiled, but it wasn't a smile with any warmth in it. "I figured you might say something like that. So I've already called them."

"Of course you have," Carla said. "And what was their response?"

"I contacted her mother's two sisters, Rita and Amy Barksdale. They would be Miss Morgendorffer's closest living relatives. Amy Barksdale is flying out here tomorrow. The other aunt will be here in a couple of days."

"What did you tell them?"

"The truth," Mrs. Silber said. "That we had located their niece Daria . . . and that she was being held in the LA County Jail when at the very most she should be undergoing therapy."

"Why did you do that?"

"Because you weren't doing anything –"

Carla breathed in slowly, blew out the breath between pursed cheeks, and stared evenly at Mrs. Silber. She tried not to let her anger seep into her voice. "Why would you make that assumption?"

"Because you've been working on this –"

"I've been working on this for _five days_," Carla said. "And it's not like this is the only thing I have to do. Yes, I'll admit it. I didn't call Daria Morgendorffer's relatives. It didn't even occur to me, and that was a mistake on my part. But I would have done it." She glared at Mrs. Silber. "I know that as a defense attorney you're kind of preprogrammed to assume that I'm one of the bad guys – that all I've been doing has been trying to find a way to sweep this under the rug. That's not the case."

"So what you've been doing is . . ."

"Two things. Familiarizing myself with the family history, and trying to figure out how to handle this without negative fallout for anyone. _Including_ Miss Morgendorffer. The state is not necessarily best served by having someone with a genuine multiple personality disorder stay in jail. But if it's badly handled, it could blow up in all our faces." She looked directly into Maggie Silber's blue eyes. "Including yours, and ours, and most importantly, Miss Morgendorffer's."

"Point taken," Mrs. Silber said.

"So let's make a deal, alright? You go by the assumption that I am not in fact trying to screw your client over, and I'll go by the assumption that you're not trying to make my job more difficult either." She extended a hand again. "Deal?"

"Deal," Mrs. Silber said without hesitation. "I'll also do my best to keep this from getting into the papers – at least, not until we have everything hashed out. I told Rita and Amy Barksdale to keep it quiet as well." She sank back in her chair. "And I'm sorry I made those assumptions."

"I accept your apology," Carla said. "Now then. I'd actually prefer we work together on this, if at all possible. Could we agree to a basic information swap?" There were certain things that had to be kept confidential, of course -- the details of the Willard Jay Harbaugh case, for instance, which she was planning to get to Dr. Vaughn as soon as possible.

When Mrs. Silber seemed a bit reluctant, Carla said, "I'm inclined towards helping her anyway. Anything you tell me that could help me convince my boss --" a bit of puffery on Carla's part; the District Attorney trusted his underlings and would sign off on anything reasonable she did -- "and the public --" and _that_ was the most important part -- "can only help your client's cause, Mrs. Silber."

Finally, the defense attorney said, "Yes. I'd also like the chance to talk to the Daria part of her personality. Faith was dominant when I went to visit her."

"I'll talk with Dr. Vaughn and arrange that." She looked over. "Are you going to want your own psychiatrist to examine her?"

Mrs. Silber shook her head. "No, since it was Dr. Vaughn who brought this up in the first place, I'll accept her analysis for now. I reserve the right to change my mind, though."

"Fair enough. Want to get started, or shall I?"

"Let's trade off."


	11. Chapter 11

I've somewhat altered the _Daria_ backstory here-- of course, given what happened to Daria and her family, it would be altered. Amy Barksdale's writing career I took from an interview with Glenn Eichler.

Disclaimer: All _Daria_ characters created by Glenn Eichler; all _Buffy_ characters created by Joss Whedon; all other characters created by me.

X X X X X

Faith tried to remember if she'd ever seen her name written "in giant dark letters on a wall," as Daria apparently remembered it.

"It might not be your name," Dr. Vaughn said. "It may just be the word."

"Doesn't ring any bells," Faith said. "But Daria and me's memories, they don't seem to overlap much."

"No, they don't," she said. "But if it came from April 10 it would be her first memory of that day. Which would definitely be progress."

Faith had a thought. "Wanna try to put me back under hypnosis? You ain't done that in awhile."

Dr, Vaughn raised her eyebrows. "I hadn't thought about that. The only hypnosis I've used recently has been triggering your changes. I wonder if hypnotizing Daria would also work."

"Puttin' me under got you her, Doc," Faith said. "Maybe doing the same for her might get you what you're lookin' for."

"Okay, I'll try you first, and then switch over to Daria," the doc said.

"Works for me," Faith said.

X X X X X

Lynette Vaughn asked Faith, "Is it the night of April 10, 1997?"

"Yeah."

"Do you see your name anywhere?"

"No."

"What do you see?"

"My mother dead in front of me. That's all I can see."

"Nothing around?"

"Just her and a bottle of booze."

"You know Helen Morgendorffer wasn't a drunk, Faith."

"Yeah. Still a bottle of booze, though."

"What kind of 'booze?'

"Looks like somethin' fancy. Maybe champagne."

"Okay, Faith. Can you go back any further in time?"

"No. This is when I was born."

"Go forward, then. What do you do?"

"I remembered where Mom had kept some cash, and I figured if she was dead I might need it. "She had one of those fake books. I found it and took the cash. About a grand. Enough to get me the hell out of there. Then I changed my clothes --"

"Why?"

"Mine were dirty."

"Dirty?"

"Some kind of stain. Only thing I kept was the leather jacket."

"And then?"

"And then I took off. Found a bus, got on it, rode it till it stopped, got on another one, got to Boston."

"Why did you go to Boston?"

"Just where I wound up. I wasn't thinkin' too clearly back then."

"So you've always known you weren't from Boston?"

"Yeah. Picked up the accent in a year or so on the streets, I guess."

"What was that year like? Before that Englishwoman found you?"

"I survived. I was tough. Learned to fight better; learned I couldn't trust no one but myself. Not like I wasn't fairly sure about that already."

"And you didn't miss school?"

"Ain't like education ever did me any good anyhow. Sure as hell didn't help Daria any, now did it?"

"Interesting. Where did you get the name Faith from?"

"It's my name. Always has been."

"Are you certain you never saw it written on a wall anywhere?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"Okay. Interesting. What was the stain on your clothes, Faith?"

"I --"

"_What was the stain?"_

"I don't want to tell you. Please."

"Faith, do you want to help Daria?"

"Yes."

"Then we need to know what the stain was."

"Blood! It was my mother's blood."

"The reports say that Helen Morgendorffer was killed by a single gunshot to the head."

"Could be. I don't remember back that far."

"You seem a lot calmer this time, Faith. The last time I took you this deep you were almost hysterical."

"This time you know how far you can push me back. You ain't askin' me questions I can't answer."

"I guess not. Anyway, I'm going to try Daria now. I want you to remember everything you've told me once you wake up."

Lynette brought Faith out of the trance, and talked to her. "How do you feel?"

Faith shook her head, like she was trying to clear it, and said, "There's some shit there I didn't realize I remembered. You never asked me what the book was. It was a law book. In my head I always made the assumption that my mom had picked it up as a hidin' place 'cause she figured no one would look in it. But that ain't the case. It was in a row of other law books. Was Helen Morgendorffer a lawyer?"

"Yes."

"Now I can see the room more clear in my head. But I can still remember the way I think it was, you know? I got two different memories of that time now. It's gonna take a while to sort 'em out." After a second, Faith said, "At least you've figured something out about why Daria became me."

"I have?" Lynette had a theory, at least part of one, but she wanted to see if Faith came to the same conclusions.

"Yeah, doc. When you had me under I said something about all that education not having done Daria any good. Might be why I'm kinda like I am -- why I stopped tryin' to learn things except off the street, until recently. Learning didn't save the Morgendorffers."

Just when Lynette thought she'd seen how smart Faith could be, the girl kept finding new ways to surprise her. That was not only along the lines of what she was thinking, it was more clearly reasoned out, if not as well articulated.

Off-handedly, Lynette wondered about something. She asked faith, "Has anyone ever given you an IQ test?"

"My guardian did," Faith said. "Boring as hell. I think my results were somewhere in the 130s. 'course, I blew off the last five questions or so."

And Lynette was willing to bet that had Faith concentrated she'd've registered as a genius. Faith played down her intelligence -- or had until recently -- but that was something else she and Daria had in common. Faith just applied her intelligence to more practical things. "Interesting," she said. "Anyway, are you ready for me to bring Daria back?"

"Your call, doc," Faith said.

"Jake, Helen, Qui--"

X X X X X

Buffy looked at Giles, Xander, Willow, Tara, Anya, and Dawn. "Dawn," she began. "Remember that phone call I got from Angel a couple of days ago?"

"Yeah. I was wondering what that was all about," Dawn said. Buffy'd held back only because of the difficulty of getting everyone in one place at one time.

"Does he need our help?" Xander asked. "'cause the big bad soul man begging us for assistance -- I'd kind of like to hear about that."

Buffy shook her head. "No. He called to tell me some interesting news about Faith." She held up a hand to hold back the obvious next question. "No, she hasn't escaped. But it turns out she's not exactly who we thought she was . . ."

X X X X X

When Amy Barksdale's plane landed at LAX, she grabbed her carry-on and practically shoved her way through the mass of people ahead of her on her flight from New York. This was atypical, for her; she wasn't a very emotional person. But these were unusual circumstances.

When she'd gotten the call Thursday evening from a woman calling herself Maggie Silber, she'd been skeptical at first.

It had taken a while, but the woman had convinced her: Daria was alive.

She hadn't seen her niece in over ten years before her disappearance -- or any of the rest of her family, either. Bringing too many Barksdales together in one location had been a recipe for guaranteed screaming matches -- which is why for over a decade the only communication she'd had with either sister or their families had been via phone call and letter. She'd fallen so far out of contact that, when Daria had vanished, she'd thought her niece was on the verge of college.

That had all changed after April 10, 1997.

Her mother had been in frail health anyway; the news of Helen and Quinn's deaths and Daria's disappearance had killed her.

Somehow, in the midst of all the tragedy, she and Rita had --- well, not exactly bonded, but in the intervening four years they'd gotten together a few times, and when Amy had gone to Rita's daughter Erin's wedding, they'd been friendly and even somewhat loving towards each other. And there's been no arguing at all -- not about their inheritance, not about family history, not even about that troll Brian that Erin was marrying. The sense of tragedy looming over everything kind of took the wind out of the sails of their petty disputes.

While Amy had done her best to stay out of the arguments that had been a perennial feature of the Rita-Helen relationship, she'd gotten dragged in more often than she would have liked.

It was a classic good-news/bad-news situation when Mrs. Silber had called. Good news: Daria's alive. Bad news: She's in jail for murder and has been suffering from multiple personality disorder for the last four years.

As a freelance magazine writer, it was easier for Amy to get away than Rita, who had more arrangements to make and more people to talk to. The money she'd inherited from her mother gave Amy the freedom to do the assignments she wanted to do -- and she'd do almost anything if it was interesting enough. She'd written two books. She'd do celebrity interviews, political stories, travelogues, science, nature -- anything except true crime.

Odd, since the book that had made her reputation had been the story of Willard Jay Harbaugh, Helen's family's murder and Daria's disappearance, and the consequences. But that book had been a purging, and she saw no need to intrude on other people's misery when she still had quite enough of her own.

All she'd brought with her was the carryon, so, armed with Maggie Silber's address, she went to the taxi stand, took the first cab, and told the driver where to go. 45 minutes and $27 later, she was in front of the woman's office. It was a Saturday, but Mrs. Silber was in her office anyway.

She smiled faintly when she walked in the room and nodded her head to the office's only occupant. "Maggie Silber?"

"Ms. Barksdale?"

"Call me Amy. Now. You got me to fly all the way out here; can I see this proof you say you have that my niece is still alive?"

"Maggie. I also got this photograph from the District Attorney working on the case, who's actually being somewhat cooperative," Maggie said, handing Amy a black-and-white photo . . .

A mug shot. "I also have dental records," Maggie was saying, but Amy wasn't really paying attention.

She didn't have her glasses and she looked like she hadn't slept in a week, but it was Daria. Only the mugshot referred to her as . . . "Faith Lehane?"

"The name of Daria's split personality. From what I've been able to gather, Daria's been identifying herself as Faith ever since April 10, 1997."

Giving back the mug shot, Amy said, "And the two murders?"

Maggie sighed. "Indisputable. 'Faith' confessed and had details of the crimes only the police would have known otherwise." Faith. The word sounded familiar, for some reason --

Of course. Holy shit. Willard Jay Harbaugh had wanted to throw the police off, so he'd pretended to be a serial killer, not simply a home invader. He wrote words in his victims' blood on the wall after every killing. (Thank God, the police and the jury hadn't bought his act. Perversely, it had been his reaction to being accused of Daria's kidnapping that had done it. He'd been genuinely startled and for a minute or two had responded rationally. Harbaugh was currently on death row in Texas. Amy wasn't in favor of the death penalty. In Harbaugh's case, she made an exception.)

He'd written two words on Helen and Jake's living room wall in Highland: "HAVE FAITH." He'd left similar messages in the homes of every one of his victims.

That couldn't be a coincidence.

That might help Daria later, but it wasn't particularly useful at the moment. "Did she have any legal representation when she confessed?" Amy asked.

"She waived it. Of course, she was 17 at the time, or so everyone thought, and I'll bring that up if I have to -- but I'm holding off on it for the moment, because the DA's office, so far, seems to be being somewhat cooperative."

"And this 'Faith," Amy asked. "A genuine dissociated identity?"

Maggie nodded. "As near as I can tell. Of course, I've only ever met the Faith persona. So far, only Dr. Vaughn can trigger the change in personality."

"Do you trust Dr. Vaughn?"

"She usually works for the state," Maggie said. "But she's been championing this being a genuine case of DID all along. That she actually agrees with us is a big point in our favor."

"I'd like to see her," Amy said.

"I knew you would. These aren't normal visiting hours. But I've prevailed upon Warden Juarez to let you come with me -- normal visiting hours don't apply to me, as her attorney. But you're going to be thoroughly searched."

"Then I'd better make sure to divest myself of the butterfly knife and AK-47."

"You do that," Maggie said, clearly unsure whether Amy was joking.

Amy smiled a Mona Lisa smile.


	12. Chapter 12

Author's Notes: The origin of Faith.

Disclaimer: _Buffy_ and _Angel_ characters belong to Joss Whedon; Glenn Eichler created the Daria characters; and everyone else and the plot are mine.

X X X X X

Daria looked across the table at Dr. Vaughn. "So you think hypnotizing me will help?"

"Actually, Faith thought of it," Dr. Vaughn said. "She's really always been a lot smarter than she's pretended to be."

"I've noticed that too," Daria said. "My instinctual reaction is to say, well, obviously, since she's me, and that's one of my few qualities I'm actually proud of. But I'm betting that's not the way it works with multiple personality disorder."

Dr. Vaughn nodded. "It's not."

"Hmmm. So whatever caused me to dissociate, become Faith, didn't have a problem with intelligence, just education."

"That's what I'm hoping to find out. But the trigger phrase I use to put Faith under will bring faith back. I need to hypnotize you separately."

Daria said, "Well, I did have those dinner reservations at the Ambassador. But I suppose I can postpone them."

"Good. Now, Daria, I need you to relax . . ."

X X X X X

It had been a lot harder putting Daria under than it had been the Faith aspect of her personality. Despite Daria's stated desire to cooperate, there was something in her personality that was highly resistant to being hypnotized -- to giving up control. It had taken some time and work to get her subconscious to trust Dr. Vaughn as much as her conscious mind claimed to.

"Daria?"

"Who else would I be? Besides Faith?" Even in deep hypnosis, she was sarcastic.

"Good. Now. You told me that the last thing your conscious mind remembers is going to bed on the night of April 9 reading a book called . . . _Dhalgren_?"

"Right. Samuel R. Delany. About a young man whose identity keeps shifting."

"But now I'm addressing the unconscious part of you."

"Or so you hope."

"Do you remember April 10?"

"'I'll tell thee everything I can, there's little to relate.' It was a normal school day in Highland -- which mostly meant I was smarter than the teachers, which one of them promptly proved by assigning me a last-minute dramatic reading of a Shakespeare scene with the two stupidest people on the planet."

"I've read about them. Were they really that bad?"

"Worse. Although apparently Highland had uranium in the drinking water, so it may not have been entirely their fault."

"Uranium? You're kidding."

"Would that I was. One of the main reasons we moved. Mom and Dad were both trying to nail down jobs anywhere in the country. Mom once said that she'd have moved us to Alaska if she'd had to. Dad's response was ,"Dammit, Helen! What am I supposed to do in Alaska? I don't like the cold!' Mom didn't appreciate my suggestion of using Quinn as bait to hunt polar bears."

"Back to April 10, Daria."

"Anyway, normal dinner, and after dinner I went to the idiots' hangout. As usual, when I got there they were watching MTV and making sarcastic comments about the videos. To my utter amazement, though, they'd actually done a better job than normal in preparing for the assignment. In this case, that meant they actually had the play and had some vague idea of who Shakespeare was. It took the next two and a half hours for me to beat the idea into their heads that I wasn't going to leave Highland with a failing grade because of their stupidity, and to get them to actually look at the words on the pages. When I left I was reasonably confident that at least they'd be able to read the dialogue directly from the books, having impressed upon them what exactly I would do to their genitalia if they failed."

"You threatened them? Did you mean it?"

"Most of it. The part about 'feeding them to the jaguars' was a bit of an exaggeration. There were no jaguars anywhere near Highland. I would have had to settle for armadillos."

"Interesting."

"The walk home took me about 15 minutes -- it was roughly a mile walk, and one I'd made far more often than any human being should have had to endure. I wonder why I blacked this out."

"Traumatic amnesia can often take away the conscious memory of events that happened well before the trauma, Daria."

"I thought that was usually only short-term memories."

"That's in an accident, when the brain hasn't had time to process the short-term memories into longer-term ones. I'm not entirely sure of the mechanics."

"Ah."

"And now . . ."

"And now's when I'd like to stop."

"If I'm going to help you, Daria, we can't stop now. Please, Daria. I know it's hard."

"You have no idea how hard it is."

"No, I don't. Tell me."

"I got to my house at quarter of ten. I noticed the front door wasn't latched. This struck me as odd, so I called out for Dad, Mom, and Quinn, but they didn't answer. I stood there for a minute or so and listened. I heard nothing inside the house. Nothing at all."

"Keep going."

"So I opened the front door."

"And?"

"No."

"And?"

"No!"

"Daria! This is where you became Faith. If we know what happened --"

"Do you want me to do it again? Do you want me to become Faith again?"

"If we know what set you on that path, we can begin to reintegrate you."

"I'll try," Daria said, after a long pause. "But do me one favor."

"What?"

"When I wake up from this, don't tell my conscious mind what you found. Either part of it."

"I'll do my best."

"I suppose that's the best I can do . . ."

X X X X X

I pushed open the front door and looked inside.

My father was sitting on the couch. I started to say, "Dad, why didn't you answer me?" when I noticed that he wasn't moving.

I ran over and looked at him. He wasn't breathing and he had no pulse. I thought he'd died of a heart attack. Jake Morgendorffer had always seemed on the verge of one --

I thought this until I saw the bloodstain on the wall.

The back of his head -- the back of his head --

Someone had shot him. And then posed him on the couch.

I ran for the kitchen to get to the telephone. I tripped over something on the floor and smacked into the wall. I shook myself off and turned on the dining room light switch.

I'd tripped over my sister.

She'd been shot too. Back of the head, just like Dad.

I couldn't help myself. I yelped in surprise, then began to cry.

Yes, me. Cry.

Who'd done this? Who'd killed --

Mom. Where the hell was Mom?

All thoughts of the phone forgotten, I ran back out to the living room and to the stairs.

I stopped before I'd taken two steps.

Because someone was coming down the stairs -- "Mom!" I yelled.

"Daria!" she yelled back. "Run --"

Then a head popped out from behind Mom. A man's head. And his hand, holding a pistol.

"Don't go nowhere," he said in a thick Boston accent. "And maybe I might let one of you live."

I wasn't about to trust him, after seeing what he'd already done to Dad and Quinn. I turned around and started to run --

And felt something hit me in the back as I reached the bottom. The man had shoved my mother down the steps into me.

"You're a smart girl, ain't you?" he said when he got down the stairs, holding his gun on both of us. I was too scared to move. "I seen your room and all of those books."

I didn't say anything. I was too terrified, too panicked, to do anything about it.

"I didn't hear no answer," he said, kicking me and Mom over to the middle of the room. "So, you a smart girl or not?"

"Yes," I said.

"Yeah, well, those books ain't helpin' you any now, are they? I got the gun, I got the muscle, and I got all your money." He shook his head. "I do have all your money, right, bitch?" he kicked Mom in the ribs.

"Yes. Everything. All the jewelry, all of it," Mom said desperately.

"Five by five," the man said. "Now, I said I might let one of you live. How do I make my choice?" He grinned. "Rock, paper, scissors. Sit up, both of you." When we didn't move, he said, "Both of you sit up or you both get shot." Rock, paper, scissors?

"Do what he says, Daria," Mom said calmly and tightly, sitting up. I did the same thing.

"Now. On the count of three, I want to see rock, paper, scissors, or I shoot both of you. One, two, three."

Randomly, blankly, I stuck out a closed fist.

And I was horrified when I saw Mom had out scissors. "It's okay, sweetie," she said.

"Rock beats scissors," the man said, and fired straight down.

The blood -- the blood -- the blood was all over me.

"A tough chick would've thrown the match," he said. "Guess you ain't tough. A smart chick would've figured out a way to save her mother and herself. Guess you ain't so smart, either."

And I must have fainted.

When I woke up, I saw, in giant dark letters across the living room wall, the words, "HAVE FAITH" written in blood. The man was gone.

And as I stared at the words HAVE FAITH all I could think about was how he was right, how being smart and all those books hadn't been any help and maybe if I'd been stronger and faster and tougher I could have helped fight him off and HAVE FAITH at least saved my mother but not Dad and Quinn oh God all of them lying dead there and HAVE FAITH the words seemed to be burning into my eyes and I couldn't look away and what good had all that education been I hadn't been able to help Dad Quinn Mom they were all gone and HAVE FAITH kept boring into my skull like it belonged there and . .

I finally turned away, looked down, and saw my mother. HAVE FAITH.

I closed my eyes. HAVE FAITH.

HAVE FAITH.

The next thing I remember I was in this room.

Keep your word, Dr. Vaughn. Don't let me remember any of this. Please.

X X X X X

When Daria was done with her narrative, Lynette Vaughn sat there, stunned.

Going through something like that . . . it was hardly surprising that Daria Morgendorffer's identity had dissociated. Finding her father posed on the couch and her sister sprawled out on the floor would have been bad enough -- enough to cause severe post-traumatic stress disorder at the very least. Having her mother shot in front of her, in such a way that it would make it easy for Daria to blame herself, and because of such a random, ridiculous method as rock, paper, scissors -- if Willard Jay Harbaugh had done similar things with his other home invasions, then that the jury saw through his faked insanity was nothing less than a genuine miracle.

It was amazing Daria hadn't gone catatonic.

The story also helped explain how Daria had become Faith, someone who wasn't educated,

"Okay, Daria," she said. "You won't remember any of it and I won't tell it to you unless it's absolutely necessary."

"Thank you."

Then she brought Daria out of the trance.

"Did you learn anything?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Well?"

Lynette shook her head. "You made me promise not to tell you."

Daria said, "Sounds like something I'd do." After a second, "Is what you learned the kind of stuff I wouldn't want to hear?"

"Yes."

A knock on the door interrupted whatever Daria was going to say next. A guard stuck his head in and said, "Ms. Lehane's lawyer is here. She said she'd like to see you both."

The guard escorted both of them to the lawyer's visiting area. A gray-haired woman introduced herself as Maggie Silber, lawyer for Daria Morgendorffer aka Faith Lehane. A brown-haired woman who looked to be about 40 and bore something of a resemblance to Daria/Faith stood next to her.

Daria nodded her head. "Nice to meet you as me. I'm Daria Morgendorffer."

"Daria?" the other woman said.

"Yes? Do I -- Aunt Amy?"

"Yes. My God. I didn't really believe it until I saw you. But it's really you." She turned to Maggie Silber. "We have to get her out of here."

Lynette said, "And with what she just told me in our last session, we might be able to."


	13. Chapter 13

For those of you wondering what Wolfram & Hart's reaction would be . . .

Disclaimer: Plot, Lynette Vaughn, and Maggie Silber mine. Every other character, 'tain't mine.

X X X X X

"And what would that be?" Mrs. Silber asked.

Before Daria could explain that she didn't want to hear it, Dr. Vaughn said, politely but firmly, "I don't work for you. I have Faith's best interests at heart, but any revelations I've learned I'll be sharing with the DA first."

Mrs. Silber looked at Daria. "Daria? Could you tell us?"

"I couldn't if I wanted to," Daria said. "Whatever Dr. Vaughn learned about me she learned under hypnosis -- and I asked her not to tell me what I said. Whatever happened on the night of April 10, 1997, was traumatic enough to turn me into Faith. It's not surprising that I wouldn't want to live through it twice."

Aunt Amy was still looking at her. "I'm so sorry we couldn't find you," she said. "We looked. Rita and I. We hired private investigators and posted rewards -- up to $50,000. None of it did you any good." She looked at Dr. Vaughn. "You found her. The $50,000 is yours if you want it." Daria's eyes widened. $50,000 to find her? That was . . .

That was more than she ever would have expected.

Dr. Vaughn said, "No. I'm just doing my job."

"Are you sure?" Dr. Vaughn nodded. "Then, Maggie, The $50,000 is your fee for getting Daria out of here."

"You'll have to hash that out with the other person paying the bills," Mrs. Silber said. "I'll tell you who that is later." Aunt Amy nodded.

Dr. Vaughn asked, "Why did you want me here?"

"Because I needed to be sure I could meet both personas," Mrs. Silber said. "Since I'm the lawyer for both of them. And right now you're the only one who can trigger the change."

"I can do it when I'm asleep," Daria said. "A few days ago I went to sleep as Faith and woke up as me. But I seem to have left my sleeping pills in my other suit this afternoon."

Ms. Morgendorffer," Mrs. Silber said formally, "While your Faith persona agreed to retain me as your attorney, I'd like your approval also."

Daria said, "You have it." Then she had a thought. "Do you need it, legally?"

"Legally? I'm not sure the law has covered this specific situation -- and the general case that applies would no doubt hold you incapable of making your own decisions due to your DID and would leave such things up to whoever legally spoke for you. Which would be your aunt or I, depending on the circumstances. But I wasn't thinking about it from a legal angle so much as from a practical and ethical one. It doesn't matter to me that right now you could easily be declared _non compos mentis_; Faith seems to be perfectly capable of making her own decisions, and so do you -- and this case would be a lot harder for me if either one of you was screaming bloody blue murder about the situation."

"Yes. I am well known for my tendency to scream 'bloody blue murder' when confronted by a situation I don't like," Daria said.

"Yes," Aunt Amy said dryly. "It runs in the family."

"I can definitely tell the two of you are related," Mrs. Silber said.

"In any event," Dr. Vaughn said. "I don't think I'm needed here any longer."

As she got up to leave, Aunt Amy said, "Hold on a second, Dr. Vaughn. I think I'd like to meet this other persona." At Dr. Vaughn's somewhat skeptical look, Aunt Amy said, "This is who my niece has been for the last four years. I think I have a right to know that beyond whatever's on the public record."

Dr. Vaughn said, "Daria? Your call."

Daria said. "No. It isn't. It's Faith's call, really. But she's not here, so on her behalf, I think she'd want to meet my aunt as well."

"Faith Ellen Leha --"

X X X X X

The first thing Faith noticed was that she was in the lawyer's room, with the doc, Maggie Silber, and some woman she'd never met before but who looked a whole lot like her, only twenty years older.

"Hey," she said. "What's goin' on?"

The woman across from her said, "You must be Faith."

"Good guess. What was your first clue?"

She laughed. "I'm Amy Barksdale. I'm Daria's -- _your _-- aunt."

Faith snapped her fingers a couple of times, saying, "Yeah. Helen's sister or Jake's?"

"Helen's," Amy said.

"Sorry. That's one of the things Daria and I have never gotten around to talkin' about. Nice to meet you." She looked over at Maggie Silber. "I'm guessin' you called her in?"

"Yes," she said. "You have another aunt, Rita, who's flying in on Monday."

Turning back to Amy, Faith asked, "Any other relatives I don't know about?"

"A cousin named Erin. I think your father has a brother --"

"He does," Mrs. Silber said. "But I couldn't reach him."

"Don't worry," Amy said. "It's not like we're all of us horrendously close anyway." She chuckled humorlessly. "So. You killed two people. Why?"

Faith shrugged. "Only excuse I got is, one was an accident, one was on purpose, and it seemed like a good idea at the time. I was wrong. I was evil, and bad, and I know it. Kinda why I'm in here, Amy. And the list of my charming qualities doesn't stop there. I got a whole shitload of bad things on my conscience. You want me to detail 'em for you? 'cause I got nothin' but time."

Amy shook her head, sadly. "I'm sorry. Whatever happened to turn Daria into you, I'm sorry. But you have to know I want her back."

Faith said. "Yeah. I know. I don't blame you. Not that her life sounded perfect or anything, but I think hers would've turned out a whole lot better than mine."

"It's hard to imagine how it could have turned out worse," Amy said, but there was nothing mean about the way she said it.

"I could be dead," Faith said. "I tried to get this guy I know to kill me by doin' shitty things to his friends. He wouldn't do it. He convinced me I needed to make up for what I'd done. That's why I'm here." Looking at Mrs. Silber, she said, "Thank Angel for me."

Amy said, "Angel?"

Mrs. Silber said, "A private investigator."

"He's the guy who saved me, and the one footin' the bill."

"Not anymore," Amy said. "Not all of it. When we're done, Mrs. Silber, if you could point me in his direction, I'll settle up the matter of who's paying your bill."

Mrs. Silber shrugged. "As long as it's someone."

"So, Amy," Faith said. "Am I everything you expected?"

"It's amazing," she said after a brief pause. "If I'd run across you on the street I would've barely given you a second glance. I might've noticed that we looked a bit alike, but that's about it."

"Dissociated identities can be like that," Dr. Vaughn said.

Standing up, Amy said, "Don't take this the wrong way -- but I hope I never meet you again."

Faith didn't go along with the woman, but she knew where she was coming from. "In your shoes I'd feel the same way. You'll forgive me for not bein' so keen on the idea of vanishing forever myself."

Amy said nothing to this, instead turning to Mrs. Silber and saying, "Thank you for letting me see my niece."

"Is there anything else you wanted to talk to Daria about?" Dr. Vaughn asked.

Mrs. Silber said, "No. I got what I came here for. Daria's consent. At some point, I am going to want to hear what you found."

Dr. Vaughn said, "As soon as I can, I'll tell you."

"Good." And with that Maggie Silber and Amy Barksdale left the room.

X X X X X

Linwood Murrow was sitting at his desk when Lilah Morgan walked into his office. She had no idea why she was being called in. All of her active projects were going smoothly, and it had been far too long since any failures for her to be raked over the coals now.

"Guess what I just heard?" Linwood said.

"Telepathy wasn't one of the powers I got from the Senior Partners," Lilah said. "And I doubt you brought me in here to play twenty questions."

"True. It's in regard to an old, failed project you and McDonald worked on. It may be coming back to bite us in the ass. And if it bites us --"

"Then I'll be the one getting chewed up, I get that," Lilah said. "What is it?"

"Faith Lehane."

"Last I heard she was doing 25 to life and the Senior Partners had decided it wasn't worth our time and effort to kill her."

"That's true," Linwood said. "But circumstances have changed. One of our moles inside the LA County Jail has found out that Faith Lehane used to have another identity entirely -- and that our old friend Angel has hired Maggie Silber to get her out."

"Based on what?" Lilah scoffed. "A technicality? Even the LA court system isn't going to let an admitted multiple murdered out of jail based on her giving the police the wrong name. Good as Silber is, she's not us." Then something occurred to her. "Wait a minute. Maggie Silber specializes in insanity defenses."

Linwood nodded. "Exactly. Turns out Miss Lehane has a multiple personality disorder. Apparently, it's absolutely genuine -- this isn't some ploy she's using to free herself. Our mole says that Lehane's still on her," and he said the next two words contemptuously, "redemption kick and has no plans to get out. Still, if she does -- or if this is some ploy by Angel or other forces of good -- I want us to know exactly what's going on. So do the Senior Partners."

"Do they want any steps taken?"

"Not at the moment. Faith Lehane, even when one of the 'good guys,' was something of a loose cannon. We would simply prefer it, at the moment, were she not aimed in our direction." After a second, "So you know what I want you to do."

This was clearly a test, and one Lilah didn't intend to fail. "I'll keep track of the situation," Lilah said. "And should she get out, I'll try to find something for her to do away from the city of Los Angeles." After a second, "Maybe I'll point her towards Sunnydale. There seems to be a developing situation down there . . ." Glorificus was more than a 'developing situation.' Lilah would be willing to bet her soul, had it not already been promised to someone else, that the Senior Partners were keeping a close and worried eye on the hellgod.

"Where either she'd help the other Slayer and her allies take care of the Hellgod -- eliminating the threat her departure from this plane would pose to us -- or the Hellgod would kill then. Good idea, Lilah." He leaned forward and said, "It had better work," and dismissed her from the office with a gesture.

Lilah didn't need to be told twice.

X X X X X

"Well, here we are again," Faith said.

"Astute observation," Daria said dryly. "You see me, you know you're here, and you perceive the location and that we have been here before, and from just these bare facts you somehow come to the conclusion that we are here again. Tell me, Holmes. How do you do it?"

"Ha ha." Actually, it was kinda funny, but she wasn't going to give Daria the satisfaction. After a second, Faith changed her tone and said, "So what did you think of Maggie Silber?"

Daria shrugged. "She seemed competent enough. I didn't really get to talk to her for too long. And what did you think of Aunt Amy?"

"I could see the resemblance," Faith said, "Though she looks a lot more like the way you look to me now than the way you actually look. You know, glasses, hairstyle, all of that."

"My internal image is still that of a 16-year old who needs glasses and never really cared about her appearance. Yours is of a 19-year old who finds painted-on leather pants and low-cut tops an acceptable fashion statement." Daria was doing her best not to sound critical.

Faith said, "It worked for me. When I realized guys thought I was hot in these things, it gave me power over 'em. Trust me: Nothing gets a guy to stop thinking faster than tight leather pants." And until she'd learned to fight, it had been damn near the only power she'd had.

"That's going to be fun to hash out when we're integrated."

"Yeah," Faith said. "About that."

"What?"

"Aunt Amy had the guts to say it today -- she said she hoped she never met me again. She wasn't bein' mean or anything, which makes it worse. I get the feelin' that to almost everyone else out there the successful outcome ain't gonna be you and me sharing a body, or me and you combinin'. 'cause you were right; apart from the way we both keep people at arm's length, we don't have a whole hell of a lot in common. I keep tryin' to picture what you and me joined together would be like and I just can't do it. I can't." She shook her head sadly. "And the thing is, Daria, it's your body, not mine. And you did a whole hell of a lot better with it than I've ever done."

"I promised you I wouldn't let them get rid of you," Daria said. "I plan on keeping my word."

"I know. And I appreciate that. It just might not be our decision."


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: If you don't recognize them, they're mine. If you do recognize them, they belong to either Joss Whedon or Glenn Eichler.

X X X X X

"Who else's decision would it be?" Daria asked. "Dr. Vaughn's? Maggie Silber's? Carla Fisk's?"

"Any or all of 'em, put together. If they decided that I needed to be erased for our own good, there ain't a whole lot we could do about it."

"You want to hear something even more pessimistic?"

Faith said, "Not really, no. Tell me anyway." She needed to have all the info she could.

"Dr. Vaughn could do that all by herself. All she'd need to do is say 'Jake, Helen, Quinn," to you, and then never say 'Faith Ellen Lehane' to me. It would be a massive violation of professional ethics, of course. But since when has that ever stopped people?" Dr. Vaughn didn't seem like the type of person who would do something like that. But Daria had been wrong before.

"We could still switch off in these dreams, though."

Daria shook her head. "Every dream like this we've had has been when you were in control. I don't know if I could."

"Dammit," Faith said "I really need to get you more into the other part of my life. That's why I have dreams like this."

"The . . . vampire slaying?" Daria said, skeptically. Just because Faith was preternaturally strong didn't mean the other stuff was true. Made it a tad more likely, but still. Vampires?

"Yeah. The vampire slaying. And I can tell you don't really believe me yet. On the other hand, you ain't treatin' me like I'm a complete nutjob, so that's a start."

"You were right about how strong we are," Daria said. "That buys you enough credibility to keep the discussion going. Still, vampires, werewolves, demons -- this sounds like sweeps week for _Sick, Sad World_."

"Yeah. Or an off week for ­_X-Files_. I wish there was some way I could show you this. You know, if you ever get out of here and I'm not with you in some way you're gonna be in a lot of trouble. You got the strength, but you ain't got the fighting skills or the instincts." After a second, "Do you have any fighting skills?"

"I learned basic self-defense -- Mom insisted. Nothing fancy like you can do."

"Most of my fighting technique comes from the street," Faith said. "I've never been much of a martial artist. My Watchers gave me a little discipline, showed me a few techniques, but not much. I just took the way I'd already been fightin' and figured in my new strength and speed. Never even really learned weapons beyond knives and stakes." She paused. "I can do a bit more to prove myself, though. Yeah, this is a dream, but it doesn't look like I can conjure up anything I want. And you can try what I'm about to show you next time you get the chance. If only there was a way for you to meet Angel." And saying this, she began kicking, punching, and dodging imaginary attackers.

Daria was impressed with her speed and agility. And she believed Faith; this didn't seem to be a lucid dream where either one of them could control things.

So perhaps, if Faith had her speed and strength --

There was something Daria had heard of called "muscle memory." A body instinctively remembers how to do things over time through repetition. It wasn't psychological, but a genuine physiological change.

Faith had told her she'd been fighting for a long time. And Faith was Daria. Yes, d dreamtime was unreliable. But it was worth a shot.

This was going to require something Daria wasn't very good at -- not thinking.

She watched Faith for a bit. Then she threw a punch.

Then another.

Then a kick.

Then a second kick.

Then she began to dodge and weave, just like she'd seen Faith do.

Faith looked over and saw Daria shadowfighting. She didn't feel any more intellectual, so she knew they weren't integrating; but somehow Daria had picked up Faith's techniques.

And --

This was weird.

The more Daria fought, the more she stopped looking like a bookish teenager and stated looking more like Faith thought of herself. Oh, the girl still had on the same outfit and the glasses; but she looked 19 now, not 15, and more self-confident, more assured.

Daria stopped when she felt Faith looking at her. "Sorry," she said. "Muscle memory. I was seeing if I could do the same things you do." Faith watched her image revert back to 15 years old. Dammit. She needed to not do that.

Faith had heard of muscle memory. Her first watcher had mentioned it as one of the reasons she should train, train, train. She got that now; she hadn't gotten it then.

"Of course," Daria continued, "This is the dream version of muscle memory. The real test will be seeing how well it works in the real world."

Faith said, "Try not to get into any fights. The guards kind of frown on that. And yeah, we could kick their asses, but eventually, there are more of them than there are of you."

"Darn. There go my plans to start a riot and slip out in the chaos."

"You should have seen yourself, just now," Faith said. "When you stopped thinking and started fighting, you looked just like me."

"I still can't picture myself wearing tight leather pants," Daria said. Except possibly at gunpoint. And even then, it would need to be a large-caliber weapon.

Faith shook her head. "No. I mean, you looked your age. Our age. And you had the muscle tone we have now. But now you're back to what you used to look like. Eventually, you're gonna have to start seein' yourself that way full time."

"Or --?"

"Or you're dead," Faith said. "Look. Just because you don't remember your time as a vampire Slayer doesn't mean other people and creatures ain't gonna. There are people who would track us down and kill us based just on that, never mind what me and B've done to them. And then there's the sacred duty of bein' a Slayer." Faith couldn't believe she'd said that with a straight face. It had taken her years -- till the time she'd been in B's body in that church and finally knew what it was like to say "Because it's wrong," and mean it -- to really get it.

Too late, seeing what happened afterwards. Too late for her. But maybe not too late for Daria.

Daria said as much. "Seems to me you weren't treating it like a sacred duty."

"I know. That was my fuckup. It doesn't have to be yours. Look, Daria, I realize this is a whole new level of shit bein' piled on you. But it ain't something you're going to be able to avoid."

"Muscle memory," Daria said.

"You got the moves. That's a big leg up. But it ain't even half the battle. I mean, you got the same strength and skills I do, right now, if you stop thinking about it. But if we fought, I could take you ten times out of ten. And while I told you about vamps and werewolves and how to deal with 'em, there are a whole shitload of other nasties out there that you and me ain't got time to memorize."

"You're saying if I get out of here, my life is pretty much over anyway," Daria said. "Doesn't give me a lot to look forward to." She shook her head. "I'm not a hero. I never wanted to be a hero. All I wanted to do was write and get an education."

"Are you sayin' you like it better in here?"

"No. I'm saying right now my best hope is that you're completely insane. And my muscle memory makes even that faint." The strength was superhuman, the speed and fighting skills not so, but combined, it said that either Faith labored under an incredibly powerful delusion or that she was telling the truth.

And that scared the hell out of Daria.

X X X X X

"What kind of bagel do you want?" Bonita Juarez, who'd been born and raised in New York City, had grown up loving bagels and didn't see any reason to change that now that she was thousands of miles away from ninety percent of the quality bagel shops in the world. It was a bitch and a half finding a place out here, but she had. "I got a dozen mixed here, plus cream cheese and butter."

She, Carla Fisk, and Lynette Vaughn were meeting to discuss the Faith Lehane aka Daria Morgendorffer situation. Bonita's one full-time day off was Sunday, and she repeatedly told the deputy warden who got stuck running the place Sundays not to call her in for anything short of a riot or a mass escape attempt. So far she'd gotten called in once in three years.

Still, this was important enough that she agreed that they needed to hash it out as soon as possible. Bonita had apologized to her family and went over to the DA's office as soon as church was over.

Normally, this wouldn't have been in her job description. But these weren't really normal circumstances, and both Lynette and Carla had asked her to be there to be, if nothing else, a sounding board.

"Cinnamon raisin?" Lynette asked. "Plain."

"Everything," Carla Fisk said. "With cream cheese."

Bonita took an onion bagel, spread it with half butter and half cream cheese, and sat down in one of the chairs around the conference room. The DA's office never slept, not even on the weekend, but it did take it easy. No one would be using this room for a while.

"Okay," Carla said. "You said you came to some kind of breakthrough yesterday?"

"You could say that," Lynette said. "I found out what turned Daria Morgendorffer into Faith Lehane. Ms. Fisk -- did you get the file on Willard Jay Harbaugh from the state of Texas?"

Carla said, "Yes. Got it yesterday. Spent some time looking through it. It's pretty thick and very gory."

"I want to confirm a few things before I tell you. Where was Harbaugh born and raised?"

"Hold on . . ." Carla said. Bonita couldn't see why this was important, but she wasn't the expert. "Born in Quincy, Massachusetts. Grew up in Boston."

"Good. How many witnesses did he leave alive?"

Carla answered that one without checking her file. "Two. They were terrified but they gave us pretty detailed descriptions of what he looked like."

"Three," Lynette said. "He was still there when Daria Morgendorffer got back from her school project."

"He said that he'd never met her."

Laughing sharply, Bonita said, "A lying spree killer. Never would've seen that one coming."

"And did he leave messages on the walls of all of his victims' homes?"

"In their blood. Always short and inspirational. 'Don't give up,' 'Hang in there,' 'Have faith --" She and Bonita looked at each other. "That's the one that was on the wall of the Morgendorffer home in Highland." It wasn't a question.

"Yes," Lynette said. "And you've just confirmed a lot of what Daria Morgendorffer told me under hypnosis."

"Let's hear the rest of it, then," Bonita said.

And Lynette told them the whole story. When she was done, Bonita said, "Holy mother of God . . ."

"There's nothing in the official record that conflicts with Miss Morgendorffer's story?" Lynette asked.

"Apart from her actually being there, no," Carla said. "Holy crap. The other two survivors suffered from severe post-traumatic stress disorder. And they didn't have family members killed five feet away from them."

"I'm surprised she didn't go completely catatonic," Lynette said. "As it is, seeing her mother murdered right in front of her caused a trauma severe enough to completely dissociate her identity. By objective standards, Faith Lehane is not an improvement on Daria Morgendorffer. But it had just been forcefully demonstrated to Daria how little help her education had been, and how a 'tough chick" would have been able to protect her family. Given all of this --"

"I almost never say this about my inmates," Bonita said, "'cause I've heard seven different kinds of bullshit seven different ways. But that girl's a victim. Maybe Faith Lehane isn't, but Daria Morgendorffer sure as shit is."

"Agreed," Carla said. "Dr. Vaughn, you said the normal procedure in cases like this is to integrate the two personalities, correct?"

"That's usual. It's not always done -- on occasion, it's better for the person to maintain the dissociated identities, if the process of integrating them would make matters worse or there's really nothing mentally wrong with the person other than the multiple personalities. Other times, it might be better to eliminate the dissociated identity entirely."

"How long would it take to integrate Faith and Daria?"

Lynette shook her head. "I couldn't begin to tell you -- and I'm not sure it would be feasible in this case. Their personalities are so wildly disparate that integrating them would be very difficult."

Carla Fisk said, "And here's where the District Attorney's office sticks its head in, officially. The Faith identity is responsible for two murders and a whole host of lesser crimes. Putting her back on the street as herself is unacceptable."

Lynette said, "Daria will never go for it. She and Faith made a deal -- they're able to talk to each other in their dreams, I think I told you that -- and Daria agreed that Daria wouldn't try to be released if it meant Faith losing her identity."

"Well," Carla said, "Someone's just going to have to tell her that it's not her decision."


	15. Chapter 15

Author's note: A slight step backwards in time at the beginning here, to finish up Faith and Daria's dream.

Disclaimer: Dis-**clay­**-muhr. Noun. One who disclaims. Also, a mandatory notice put at the beginning of fanfic, indicating that all non-original characters are not the property of the author.

X X X X X

Faith and Daria had actually sparred for a bit in their dream. Faith hadn't been quite right; when Daria concentrated fully on the fighting she found she was able to slip a blow or two under Faith's guard.

Faith had been right about something else, though; she felt different when she was like this. More confident -- and more physically mature. When she'd gotten a really good chance to look at herself back when Faith had pinched her and she'd woken up, she'd been stunned by how she'd physically matured in the intervening four years. Not just the muscle tone -- but her figure as well. Back in Highland, she'd never had much of one. Now things were definitely different.

Daria had never been fond of people paying attention to her for her looks -- and now she couldn't deny she _had_ looks. Faith was gorgeous. And she was Faith.

Therefore, she was gorgeous.

She wasn't sure she liked that. It wasn't that she wanted people to like her for her mind; for the most part, she didn't care whether people liked her or hated her. But she _didn't_ want them to like her for her looks.

Nothing she could do about that now, short of self-mutilation. And she wasn't _that_ desperate to be disliked.

In any event, when they fought, while Daria had struck Faith more than Faith had predicted, for every blow Daria had landed Faith had landed five.

At least, at first.

Daria figured she couldn't match Faith's experience, even if they were equals in strength and speed and muscle memory.

Then she figured it out.

She penetrated Faith's guard and nailed her with a solid right to the jaw, then she stepped quickly backwards to dodge Faith's return punch, hitting her again when she missed.

After she did this three times in a row, Faith held up her hands and said, "Okay, time."

Daria stopped. "Where the hell'd you pick up that last move?" Faith asked. "Ain't something I've ever done."

"I couldn't beat you using moves that you'd been practicing for years," Daria said, shrugging. "So I let our instincts handle the fighting while I observed you to see if I could find a pattern. You like quick return attacks. I hit you; you hit back harder. So I made it my priority to dodge your return attack."

Faith laughed and clapped her on the back. "Good job, Daria. I think you're getting it."

"I'm still not saying that I buy everything you've been telling me about the supernatural."

Faith said, "Yeah, you do."

Then she pinched her again, and Daria woke up.

And she wasn't scheduled for any sessions with Dr. Vaughn today.

Okay, last time she'd fooled everyone for several hours; let's see if she could do it for more than a day . . .

X X X X X

"The last time I checked," Lynette Vaughn said, "Faith Lehane hadn't been declared incompetent to make her own decisions. So it is her choice."

"With what you've told us it would be a fairly easy step," ADA Fisk said. "I've been doing some research -- usually people with multiple personalities have to take special steps to be declared legally sane, not the other way around."

"It's still not an automatic finding," Lynette said. "And neither personality is dangerous, at the moment. I'd testify to that in court if I had to."

ADA Fisk blinked. "Not dangerous? One of her personalities murdered two people."

"And turned herself in and has said, at every opportunity, that she doesn't want to leave prison until she's done her time," Lynette said. "The courts could have had Faith Lehane declared legally insane during her trial or sentencing. They didn't."

"They made her come see you, Lynette," Bonnie murmured.

Lynette shot Bonnie a look. "Yes. They did. But she's in the LA County Jail, not the LA County psych wards."

"So you're saying you're not going to cooperate?" ADA Fisk asked.

"In this case, no," Lynette said. They had her report; she wasn't going to take that away. "I'm willing to be convinced otherwise, but it seems like a drastic step."

"Actually," Bonnie said, "I think it's a compromise."

"Why do you think that?" Lynette snapped.

Bonnie held up her hands. "Calm down. The two of you invited me here so you could have a third opinion. In my opinion, this is a compromise."

"Okay," Lynette said, trying to calm herself down. Bonnie hadn't deserved to be snarled at like that. "Explain."

"Sure. Carla could be taking all this and saying, fuck that, Faith Lehane is a killer and needs to stay in jail. She's not. She could also be saying that the DA's office wants her at least to be in a mental institution for the next fifteen years. She's not saying that, either. I get what you're saying, I do. Lehane's been a model inmate; after the usual pecking order fight when she got there she hasn't been any trouble at all. So I see where you're coming from. She's not crazy, not by the legal definition or the definition of the person on the street."

"And this would get Daria Morgendorffer -- who we all agree was an innocent victim in all of this -- back on the streets, as soon as you say she's ready," ADA Fisk said.

"I know," Lynette said. "And I want to see that happen. But doing it this way means we're not going to be getting any cooperation -- certainly, none from the Faith persona. And at the moment you couldn't force her anyway."

"Since she is legally forced to see you," Bonnie said, "Could we go at it that way?"

"No. She only has to see me once a week by the terms of her plea. And she has to agree to any radical therapies. Forcibly taking away a personality would qualify."

"But not if we got her declared _non compis mentis_," ADA Fisk said. "I could probably get an expedited hearing."

"With what as proof? My report?" Lynette said. "That won't be enough."

"It would be if we got a relative to go along with it," ADA Fisk said.

"But --" Lynette stopped, suddenly getting it. "You're going to talk to Amy Barksdale."

"I think I can convince her," the ADA said. "Look. Dr. Vaughn. I understand that you don't like this. But I really am thinking of Ms. Morgendorffer's greater good."

"'In all of history, no greater damage has been done than by someone who thought they were doing the right thing.' Charles Schulz. Look. Your mind is made up. I won't stop you, and I won't work against you. But my report is all the help you'll get from me." Lynette stood up and nodded twice. "ADA Fisk. Bonnie."

Then she left the room.

X X X X X

Amy Barksdale looked out the car window at their destination. "He lives in a _hotel_?"

"It's his office, as well," Maggie Silber said. "He owns the building."

Amy looked up. "The place must have been impressive, once upon a time." The building's exterior had an air of anachronism to it -- as though it had been plucked out of the golden age of Hollywood and plopped into the early 21st century. Only a few vague hints of decay showed its true age.

"It was," Maggie said. "I'm just old enough to remember the Hyperion's heyday. It was one of the grandest hotels in Los Angeles."

"And now it's an office for a detective agency," Amy said. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen."

As Maggie parked the car, she said, "It could be worse. It could be torn down, like the Richfield Building was." Amy had never heard of it. "One of the masterpieces of Art Deco in LA," she said.

"Ah. Interesting." And she meant it; but at the moment Amy was mostly concerned with the man who'd hired Maggie to defend her niece. So far, literally the only things she knew about him were his job, his name (and only his first), and that he'd stopped Faith from, effectively, committing suicide.

There didn't seem to be any signs of life as they approached the entrance. "He said he'd be waiting inside," Maggie said.

They opened the front door. The lobby was expansive, with a beautiful grand staircase.

A fairly good-looking guy of about 30 sat on one of the couches in the lobby. He stood up as Amy and Maggie entered and walked over to them. "You must be Ms. Barksdale and Mrs. Silber," he said. "Hi. I'm Angel." He shook both of their hands, quickly. Amy noticed how cold his hands seemed. "Come on over and sit down," he said gesturing to the couches.

"Call me Amy," Amy said. Maggie indicated that Angel should call her Maggie.

"Would you like any coffee?" The both said no. "Thank God," he said wryly. "Because it's a Sunday and we're not working on any active cases, I'm the only one in the office. And my coffee-making skills leave a lot to be desired."

"Don't worry," Amy said. "I have been immunized against all known poisons."

Angel grinned, then said, "So you wanted to help me pay for Mrs. Silber's services?"

"Yes. But first I wanted to thank you. 'Faith' told me what you'd done for her. That she'd come here and tried to get you to kill her --"

"She was going for something like 'suicide by cop," Angel said. "I wasn't going to let her."

"But how did you get through to her? And why did she come to you?"

"I . . . first met her in Sunnydale," Angel said. "That's a couple of hours north of here. After she killed the Deputy Mayor --"

"You knew about that back then?" Amy said.

"Yes. And the reason I didn't turn her in," he said, anticipating Amy's next question, "is that I knew that wouldn't help her. She had to pull herself clear of that darkness. I knew that from experience --"

"You'd seen a lot of that in your time as a private investigator?" Amy asked.

After a brief hesitation, Angel said, "Yes. I knew how tempting that path could be. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to save Faith then. She threw herself headlong into being as bad a bad girl as she could. But when she finally figured out what she'd done -- why it was wrong -- she knew I was the one who'd understand. But in her frame of mind, she wasn't thinking of confessing. Instead, she actually took money from -- someone who doesn't like me -- and tried to kill me. Eventually, she and I started fighting in an alley --"

"I can't believe she'd be that tough a fighter, though," Amy said.

"She's a lot tougher than she looks," Angel said. "Anyway, she went on about how bad she was, how tough, how evil, and then she started daring me to kill her. Then she started begging me to do it. I refused and took her back to my office -- and, after a couple of days, she decided to turn herself in."

Amy said, "Thank you. Because of what you did, I have a chance to get my niece back."

"You're welcome," Angel said. Then, turning his head to Maggie, he said, "Do we have a chance to get her out?"

Maggie said, "Yes. And a pretty good one. The DA working on this has actually been fairly cooperative. She seems to want to help Daria almost as much as we do -- she's just trying to make sure that there's no negative publicity."

"If she gets out," Angel pointed out, "There's going to be negative publicity. Split personality or not, she killed two people."

"She's trying to minimize it," Maggie said, "And I can't really say I blame her. The last thing we need is the victim's family members or a group of victim's rights advocated up here whining about how Daria's getting special treatment. We know she was a victim, but I doubt they'll see it that way."

"So. Money?" Amy said. "My sister and I have had a $50,000 reward outstanding for the last four years for anyone who found our niece. Dr. Vaughn turned it down, so I was planning to give it to Mrs. Silber here to help pay her fee."

Angel thought for a second. "How much do I owe you so far, Mrs. Silber?"

"My secretary normally handles the billing," she said. "But so far, I'd say about $2,000." Amy figured that either Maggie Silber was one of the cheapest lawyers in town or that she was tailoring her rates to her clientele. Despite that he owned the hotel, Angel definitely came across as someone who worked for a living.

Maggie's cell phone rang. She excused herself and answered it.

"Then, Amy, I'd say, save your money for the moment. Give it to Faith -- sorry, Daria -- when she gets out. She's likely to need it."

Amy's eyebrows raised. This guy seemed entirely too good to be true. He was good-looking, rescued people, and was capable of turning down fifty grand to help pay off a bill. Something _had _to be wrong with him. A gambling problem, a drinking problem, something like that.

Anyway, she wasn't going to turn him down. Fairness dictated that she say, "Are you sure?" When he indicated he was, she said, "Then to Daria it goes."

Maggie hung up her phone and said, "That was Carla Fisk." To Angel she said, "She's the DA assigned to the case." Then, "She's read the report from Dr. Vaughn and she's ready to propose terms that could get Daria, eventually, out of jail."

"Good," Amy said. Then, nodding to Angel, she said, "Thank you again. If you change your mind, let me know." She wrote down her cell phone number on a business card and handed it over.

Angel thanked her, walked over to what had clearly once been a front desk, and got a card of his own. "This is the number of Angel Investigations. If you have any other questions -- particularly about what Faith was like --"

But Amy shook her head. "I already know everything I need to know about Faith," she said. "Now I need to do what I have to do to recover Daria."


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon created Angel, Faith, and the Hyperion. Glenn Eichler created Daria and Amy. I created everyone else, plus the plot.

X X X X X

Daria's second day wasn't quite a duplicate of her first.

Fortunately, no one picked up that once again she was in charge of her body, rather than Faith. A reputation as a bad-ass had its advantages.

Hmmm. An intellectual bad-ass. Usually, they were played by Patrick Swayze. Or directed by Quentin Tarantino. In any event, in the movies at least, they were always men. So she would be unexpected.

She could kind of enjoy that. Daria had never minded not living up to expectations, except her own.

By those standards, of course, her life since April 10, 1997, had been something less than a stellar success. Of course, a four-year detour while someone else used her body was a pretty good excuse, but still, those were four years that she would not only never get back, but that she would have to live down for the rest of her life.

No, she didn't blame Faith. Assigning blame to her was unfair, and wrong. Faith was as much a victim as she'd been.

The only person to blame was Willard Ray Harbaugh. And he was already on death row. Kind of hard to add to that sentence. Unless one was God. And Daria wasn't that much of a megalomaniac.

"Faith was as much a victim as she'd been." But she _was_ Faith. Even with everything Daria had learned she still instinctively thought of them as different people, when the truth, as it usually was, was far more complicated.

Thousands of years ago Aristotle wrote about the "law of contradiction." Simply stated, this was the premise that an item could not both be and not be something essential. Color was not essential; an item could be both brown and not-brown. But it could not be both can and not-can, both human and not-human.

Daria realized she was an exception. She was both Daria and not-Daria, Faith and not-Faith.

Even if Faith completely disappeared, leaving no traces behind other than a changed body image, super-strength, and a talent for combat, Daria would always be Faith and not-Faith.

An intellectual badass, a superhumanly strong freak, and a walking violation of the fundamental rules of logic. Let's see, how many other laws of nature could she break today?

She considered trying to fly -- "Let us see, when he leaves the room, whether he does so by the door or the window --" but figured that probably wouldn't be one of the ones she got to violate.

Anyway, this was Sunday. There were no classes taught on Sunday, so it was a day off from her job. When the guards came by to ask her whether she was going to the prison chapel this morning, she realized she had no clue what Faith's religious beliefs were. A belief in the supernatural did not automatically mean a belief in one be-all and end-all supreme being.

Certainly, _Daria_ had never believed in a God, no matter that the Barksdales had been Southern Baptist and the Morgendorffers Jewish. Their hippie days had shaken both Helen and Jake free of their need to show their religious devotion by going to a house of worship every weekend, so Daria had never developed the habit of going to church.

She guessed they wouldn't have asked if Faith didn't show up at least some days. Since Daria didn't feel like faking a display of piety, she declined. The guards said, "Thought this was one of your on weeks, Lehane." So Faith went every other week.

Daria tapped one of the two books Faith had out for study. One was a history textbook; the other was a GED study guide. "Gotta crack the books," she said. "Those GED questions ain't gonna answer themselves." She felt uncomfortable dumbing down her speech like that, but that was the way Faith spoke. So, when in prison, do as the prisoners do.

One of the guards nodded. The other one said, "I don't see why you're bothering, Lehane. Ain't like it's gonna be any use to you."

Daria bristled at that, but restrained herself. "I'll get out eventually," she said. "When I do, it'd be nice to have something besides 'killer' on my résumé."

"You'll be at least 30 by then with nothing but a high school education and no job experience," the man said. "What're you going to do?"

"I guess I could always do what you did and become a prison guard," Daria said. No, it wasn't a smart thing to say, but he was giving her a hard time for no discernible reason.

The man said angrily, "Watch it --", which was spoiled by the sound of the other guard laughing.

"Let it go, Joe," the older man said. "You walked right into that one." He nodded to Faith. "Next week, Lehane. And we prefer 'correctional officer.'"

"I'll keep that in mind." They walked away. Daria spent an hour or so reading through the GED book. She did parts of one of the practice tests in her head and, checking the answers as she went along, didn't miss a single one.

She could have taken the GED

She knew most of history except for the recent parts, and really wasn't that interested in learning how the Republicans had played kick-the-President for the last three years of Clinton's term, or who was at war with who. Besides, the history textbook was probably from 1985. Her last year at Highland, the world history book had stopped somewhere around the Vietnam War, and the science book had said, "Someday, man may get to the moon."

Nope; date of publication 1999. "So this is where all the modern textbooks are going," Daria muttered. "Figures. Educate the prisoners and treat the students like criminals." Not that she had any objection to educating prisoners; it was the latter half of the equation that bothered her.

After lunch, she got some free time in the main yard. Most of the other inmates gave her a wide berth, which suited her fine. She moved over to an unoccupied corner and began practicing the fighting moves she'd been doing in the dream. No matter that that particular dreamtime seemed to operate by the rules of real life, she still wasn't entirely confident.

So. Muscle memory. She made sure no one else was close -- so the guards wouldn't think she was trying to start a fight.

She threw a punch.

It was a bit awkward. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tried again.

Much better.

Punch. Kick. Punch. Guard. Dodge. Turn. Parry. Spin. Thrust. Unlike Daffy Duck, she did not wind up with her bill bent backwards.

Kick. Punch. Jump.

She looked down and was amazed at how far she'd jumped into the air. She probably could have dunked a basketball, had she any interest at all in sports.

After about twenty minutes, during which she didn't stop once, she'd satisfied herself that this was something else Faith was telling the truth about. The physical activity -- which, apart from walking, Daria was unaccustomed to -- came nowhere even close to tiring her out. She'd barely broken a sweat.

She looked around. People all around the yard, including some of the guards, were watching. Some of them were trying to be unobtrusive about it, but most were simply staring. Most with awe and shock, a few with fear, and a couple with, apparently, lust.

Daria flushed, and it wasn't from the strain of the workout. She guessed Faith didn't do this in public very often, if at all. She hoped she hadn't just blown her cover.

So how would Faith have handled this?

Faith was an odd combination of gregarious and solitary. In prison she seemed to have gravitated more towards the 'solitary' part of her personality, but under the circumstances Daria very much doubted she would have given everyone the finger and walked off.

So Daria treated it as though she were on stage. Check that. Daria didn't go on stage except at gunpoint. She treated it as though Faith were on stage.

She grinned and bowed three times -- once to the left, once to the middle, and once to the right -- and said, loudly, in the best imitation of Faith's tone she could muster, "Next show, I start chargin'."

Then she walked away.

X X X X X

Angel wasn't sure he liked Amy Barksdale's last line. The woman had seemed nice enough -- and she'd looked enough like Faith to be her mother, even if she carried herself differently.

"Do what she had to to recover Daria?"

But Daria had already been recovered. The prison psychiatrist had brought her out again.

He was worried that what Ms. Barksdale had meant by recovering Daria was getting rid of Faith.

And that was something Angel hadn't signed on and wanted no part of.

He realized he hadn't been invited to the meeting with the District Attorney, but figured he had as much right to be there as anyone. Someone needed to look out for Faith's interests in all of this. Maggie Silber would do that, to an extent, but she was looking out for the whole person -- the Daria/Faith combination. It's possible that she could be convinced that it was in that whole person's best interest that the Faith half of her personality disappear.

If you were meeting with a DA, you met at the DA's office. Angel didn't exactly have a map of the sewer system, but he was familiar enough with it that he could get to there from here without risking an untimely death by having to step out into the sunlight. Most public buildings had some form of sewer access -- including the LA County Jail, but jails tended to understandably be a bit wary of strange people wandering around the corridors. The few times he'd visited Faith, it had always been a miserably overcast day with no chance of sun -- and Wesley or Cordelia had waited in the car with an umbrella, just to be on the safe side.

Anyway. There was no time to dawdle. He hadn't heard Mrs. Silber mention a time for the meeting, but he had to assume it was as soon as she and Amy Barksdale could get over there. That meant he had to hurry.

Fortunately, this was LA. Even early on Sunday afternoon, the traffic was miserable. Still, he had several miles to travel underground, and while Angel was in great shape, even for a vampire, he'd still have to run the whole way.

So he figured he'd best get started

He grabbed a stake and a knife -- in case he ran across any other day-wandering vampires -- descended to the Hyperion basement, dropped into the sewers, and took off.

X X X X X

Lynette Vaughn didn't know how she'd been convinced to stay for the meeting with Amy Barksdale and Maggie Silber; she supposed it was because she figured someone needed to be there to speak up on behalf of Faith Lehane, and she doubted anyone else would do it. Bonnie had gone home to be with her family, Amy Barksdale had pretty much told Faith to her face that she never wanted to see her again, ADA Fisk was gung-ho about the idea, and Mrs. Silber was an unknown quantity.

Since the major topic at hand was a bit of a bone of contention, they stayed away from it while waiting for Ms, Barksdale and Mrs. Silber to arrive. The ADA did hand her the Willard Jay Harbaugh file she'd gotten from Texas, and a quick run-through confirmed everything Daria had told her under hypnosis.

Harbaugh had killed ten people and had come within inches, figuratively speaking, of getting an insanity verdict -- in _Texas_. When they'd polled the jurors after the initial trial, what had convinced them of his sanity, and thus his guilt, had been one thing: his surprise at being accused of kidnapping Daria Morgendorffer.

Otherwise, they each ate a bagel -- Bonnie had left them each one, before taking the rest home -- and talked about trivial things.

About an hour later, ADA Fisk got a call from the security guard that Maggie Silber and Amy Barksdale had arrived. "Send them up, Cal," she said.

Within a couple of minutes they were all sitting in the conference room. "Coffee?" ADA Fisk asked after Mrs. Silber introduced Amy Barksdale to the DA.

"No thanks," they both said.

"Okay. Yesterday, Mrs. Silber, Dr. Vaughn told you that she'd come to a breakthrough with regards to what caused Ms. Morgendorffer's split personality. She told you then she had to tell me what it was first. After hearing it, I've come to a conclusion as to what the DA's office believes the ideal disposition would be of this case."

"Good," Ms. Barksdale said. "As long as that 'ideal disposition' doesn't involve my niece and a deep, dark hole, that is."

"Only half of her," Lynette muttered, but no one heard her.

ADA Fisk said, "Of course not. I've been giving this some thought and I really do believe this would be the best solution for everyone involved." Except for Faith, of course. But who cared about her? "Lynette? If you would?"

Lynette didn't mind giving the report again. "Oddly, it was Faith who gave me the idea," she said. ADA Fisk frowned a bit at this. "She suggested that perhaps hypnotizing Daria was the way to find out what had happened on April 10, 1997. Daria was resistant at first--"

"Oh good," a man's voice came from the door. "I haven't missed anything."

Lynette and ADA Fisk looked towards the doorway and saw a good-looking brown-haired guy, maybe in his late 20's. How'd he get in the building?

The ADA rose out of her seat, saying, "Who are you and how did you get in here?"

"It's okay," Mrs. Silber said. "This is Angel. He's the one paying my legal fees."

"I figure that entitles me to sit in on this," Angel said, sitting down. "I just want to make sure someone's speaking on Faith's behalf."

Lynette had gotten the answer to her question.


	17. Chapter 17

Author's Note: The rest of Daria's day.

Disclaimer: Daria Morgendorffer and Amy Barksdale were created by Glenn Eichler. Faith was created by Joss Whedon. The plot is mine.

X X X X X

The rest of Daria's day, to her great surprise, was not the anticlimax she expected. After her time in the yard ended, she was asked if she wanted to go to the prison library. Feeling an urge to read something that wasn't a textbook, she said yes.

The prison library, though, was mostly law books, textbooks, and study books. Most of the rest of the books were as mainstream as it gets -- Stephen King, Dean Koontz, Stuart Woods, and romance novels. And while Daria wasn't as down on Stephen King as a lot of critics were, under the circumstances she didn't feel much like going the horror-novel route. (She still couldn't fully admit that Faith had been telling the truth about the vampires and supernatural, but it was looking more and more like Occam's Razor was telling her that was the way to go.)

As she browsed through the bare handful of books remaining, she was brought to a dead halt by one in particular: _April 10, 1997_, by Amy Barksdale.

Hesitantly, she picked it up. The photo on the back cover was that of her aunt -- as though Daria had had any doubts.

The front cover had a slightly out-of-focus picture of the Morgendorffer family, taken when Daria had been about nine.

Daria flipped open the book and began reading.

X X X X X

Before April 10, 1997, I was doing just well enough to get by. I was then, as now, a freelance writer; but then, I was writing only when I had to, to pay my bills. Not that I'm lazy; I just felt I had better things to do, and if my life wasn't one of luxury, well, I got to go to the library, and the museums, and socialize occasionally; and that was enough.

Before April 10, 1997, I was only in sporadic contact with my family. The Barksdales defined the word "dysfunctional" when I was growing up. My sisters Helen and Rita were opponents in a war -- a war otherwise known as sibling rivalry. Rita was "the pretty one" who got the lion's share of our parents' attention; Helen was the smart one, who never tired of rubbing her intellectual achievements in Rita's face.

I was the odd girl out. Ten years younger than Helen, eleven years younger than Rita, the paths of brains and beauty had already been taken, and I was never one to follow a path someone else had already trodden. So I went my own way, and made myself into the sarcastic one, not as pretty as Rita, not as smart as Helen, but better at the combination than either of them.

Once I reached an age where I was able to give as good as I got, they were perfectly willing to include me in their war -- and, I'm ashamed to say, sometimes I fought in that war.

I got out as soon as I could, and have very rarely looked back.

This cost me the chance to know my sisters' families.

Before April 10, 1997, I thought my niece, Daria Morgendorffer (Helen's daughter by Jake Morgendorffer), was on the verge of college, and that her sister Quinn was only a year or two away. I thought my sister Rita's daughter Erin was still a teenager.

I thought a lot of things before April 10, 1997.

Today, I know that my niece, Daria, was 16; my niece, Quinn, was 14; and my niece, Erin, was 21, and is now 23.

Today, my sister Rita and I get along better than we ever did. I'm not going to utopianize (and I realize that's not a word) everything and claim that our lives are free of turmoil, but the war has long since ended. I see my surviving sister and her daughter on a semi-regular basis, and we don't bring back the old arguments.

Today, I write as though my soul were on fire. I wrote this book in three months. It should be in your hands less than one year from the date I first started it. Since April 10, 1997, I have done more writing, accomplished more, than I did in the previous 37 years of my life.

This is all due to Willard Jay Harbaugh and what took place in the Morgendorffer residence in Highland, Texas, on April 10, 1997.

I do not thank him for this.

X X X X X

"Whoa," Daria murmured as she finished the introduction. There seemed to be a photo section in the middle of the book. Daria flipped to it.

There were photographs of all of Willard Jay Harbaugh's victims -- and one of him. In addition, there were pictures of the Barksdales and Morgendorffers.

The final picture was one of her at the age of 15: Her final high school yearbook photo, taken in early March of 1997. She was staring straight forward into the camera and her face was devoid of any expression except possibly mild irritation. (She'd spent most of the time in line waiting next to one of the two morons -- at this point, she couldn't remember which one -- who had alternately amused her and annoyed her during her tenure in Highland. That her face showed only mild irritation was an expression of stoicism at its finest.)

Daria looked like she'd remembered. Somewhat like Faith. Anyone who looked at this photograph and then at Faith, if Faith looked like she had in their shared dream, would have noticed a resemblance, but then moved on.

Under her picture was a caption: Daria Morgendorffer. My niece. Still missing.

Daria read the book until it was time to leave the library. Then, under the watchful the eye of the guard, she took it to the prison librarian to check it out. The librarian raised an eyebrow when she saw the book. "This isn't your usual kind of book, Faith," she said.

"All work and no play makes Faith a dull girl," Daria said. "I've been studyin' my butt off, and when I haven't been doing that, I've been talkin' with Dr. Vaughn or doing my job. I realize I'm not here to play, but still."

"True. But reading isn't supposed to be fun. Reading is supposed to improve your mind."

"I won't tell if you don't," Daria said.

The librarian laughed, then said, "Enjoy it."

Daria nodded and left.

When she got back to her cell, she kept reading it. So far, Aunt Amy was alternating chapters between the story of Daria's family's life and the story of Willard Jay Harbaugh. She wasn't even pretending to objectivity; this was a personal narrative first and a true-crime story second.

One thing became clear: If Aunt Amy had written this in three months, she must have done nothing else in that time. It was amazing. Well written, thoroughly researched, and intense. Extremely intense. Daria had never realized that her aunt was so good a writer.

Before dinner was called, she'd gotten to the chapter titled "The Night of April 10."

She'd put the book down and just sat there on her bed, reflecting. She couldn't bring herself to read that part. Not yet.

Truth be told, she was already tremendously saddened by the parts of the book she'd already read. They made her family seem alive again. And Amy had done the best she could to not paint them as plaster saints. Here Dad was, in all of his clueless, short-tempered but good-hearted glory; here Mom was, working, working, working, always on the go but always willing to stick up for her children when she felt they were being mistreated (of course, Daria hadn't always been able to convince her of that); and here was Quinn, cute, adorable, loveable, and doomed to be popular.

No, Amy hadn't been able to make them come to life again. But she had awakened those parts of Daria that loved her family, despite all of their faults, despite how much they annoyed her at times.

And there she was. Bright, cynical, and withdrawn, or so Amy described her. It seemed a fair description. Daria wasn't sure how Aunt Amy had described them so well; she hadn't seen the Morgendorffers in person for at least ten years, although she and Mom talked occasionally, and she wrote to both Daria and Quinn.

But she had done them justice.

After dinner -- and prison food, for what it was worth, was roughly the equivalent of high school food, only there was no point in not eating it, because it wasn't like she could order out for a pizza instead -- she went back to her cell to finish reading the book.

She still couldn't read "The Night of April 10." She already knew what had happened to Jake, Helen, and Quinn; she really didn't want to know the details. And, truth be told, part of her didn't want to read it because she didn't want any possible memories of that night to be triggered by reading the book. Daria knew they were within her somewhere -- Dr. Vaughn had told her as much -- but wanted to avoid reliving in any fashion the events that had turned her into Faith.

So she skipped the chapter. The next chapter segued directly into Amy, Rita, and her grandmothers' reactions.

Grandma Barksdale was dead?

Apparently. Of a massive heart attack at hearing the news of the deaths.

Not that she'd really known the woman, but still, she was Daria's grandmother, and she mourned her briefly for that.

Grandma Morgendorffer had immediately taken to her bed, but she survived. Anyone who'd survived being married to Dad's father, the infamous "Mad Dog Morgendorffer," was tough enough to survive this. The book was published in 1999, so Daria had no idea whether she was still alive.

Anyway, from there, Amy continued to switch off between describing her family's reaction, and the continuing spree and subsequent capture of Willard Jay Harbaugh.

Amusingly -- if anything about this could be said to be in the least amusing -- Harbaugh's capture wasn't the result of diligent police work, no matter that the police had initially claimed this. It had been sheer luck that sent two Arlen, Texas, police officers into a convenience store just as Harbaugh was buying a bag of chips and a Jolt Cola. Now, to their credit, they recognized him and arrested him without incident, but still, they'd been looking for some snack food of their own when they'd lucked into the biggest arrest in the state in years.

The rest of the book covered the trial, Aunt Amy's reaction to it -- she was there for the entire thing -- and how Rita and Amy had grown closer in the years since the tragedy.

The epilogue once again got intensely personal.

X X X X X

They say the best stories never end. The same must be true for the worst ones.

Willard Jay Harbaugh is in the middle of what promises to be a lengthy appeals process. While he's still in prison and is likely to die there, this brings me no comfort. It does not bring my sister back, my brother-in-law, or my niece Quinn.

I have always been opposed to the death penalty. I still am. While Willard Jay Harbaugh's death will bring me no joy, neither will I waste one second mourning him. Nor should anyone else.

Do I contradict myself in this, that when my own ox has been gored I am willing to abandon my principles? I don't think so. If you feel differently, let me respond with the words of Walt Whitman: "Very well then. I am large. I contain multitudes."

The other families involved -- the Severances, the Malinowskis, the Odoms, the Hills -- their murders leave a corresponding absence in other families. I do not pretend to know the future, of what these people might have done, or their children. I do wish we'd had the chance to see it.

But, as the world never tires of reminding us, life isn't fair.

And I still have no idea what happened to Daria.

As for that -- I've always considered myself a woman who puts reason first.

I could come up with half a hundred different reasons why I believe my niece is still alive.

Willard Jay Harbaugh swears he had nothing to do with it. In this, I believe him. It doesn't fit his pattern.

She was seen boarding a bus to Nashville, wearing a black leather jacket. So she was still alive after the crime.

Daria is a survivor -- she's smart enough to find a way to stay alive.

Her body has never been found.

Countless other rationalizations are on the tip of my pen, waiting for me to scribble them out. But they wouldn't be the truth. The truth is, I believe Daria is alive.

Why she ran, why she got on that bus to Nashville, is something only she can answer.

And someday, she will.

I know it. I feel it.

I have faith.

X X X X X

Daria was not an emotional person.

She never had been.

Still, when she closed the book, she had tears in her eyes.

They were there long after the lights went out and she was supposed to be asleep.


	18. Chapter 18

Author's Note and Disclaimer in one: A brief character guide has been requested. I'm assuming I don't need to detail the _Buffy _or _Angel_ characters, who were created by Joss Whedon.

Original characters: **Dr. Lynette Vaughn**: Faith's court-mandated psychiatrist. **Bonita "Bonnie" Juarez**:Warden of Faith's prison. **Carla Fisk**: Los Angeles ADA currently in charge of Faith/Daria's case. **Maggie Silber**: Faith/Daria's attorney, hired by Angel. **Willard Jay Harbaugh **(offscreen): Texas spree killer who murdered Daria's family and ten other people.

_Daria _characters, created by Glenn Eichler: **Daria Morgendorffer**: 20-year old cynic who is the base personality from which Faith Lehane split. **Jake, Helen, Quinn**: Daria's irascible but loving and clueless father, workaholic mother, and fashion-obsessed sister, all dead. **Amy Barksdale**: Daria's aunt, who bears a strong resemblance to her, physically and in personality. **Rita Barksdale**: Daria's other aunt, still offscreen and whose appearance in this fic will be brief.

By the way, did anyone notice what other TV family I quietly killed off in this fic?

X X X X X

Earlier, at the meeting:

"Mr. Angel," Carla Fisk said.

"Just Angel," Angel said.

"How did you get in the building?"

"I'm a private investigator," Angel said.

"Well, unless that gives you the power to mysteriously turn invisible, it doesn't explain much."

"Although," Amy Barksdale said, grinning slightly, "I could see how it would help."

"There's nothing mysterious about it," Angel said.

"Ah," Ms. Barksdale said. "So your powers of invisibility aren't mysterious in the least. Then could you teach me how? I'd be a big hit at parties. And that is, after all, my mission in life."

The ADA was growing more and more irritated, while Dr. Vaughn was clearly making a heroic effort not to burst out laughing. Maggie Silber's expression was unreadable.

Carla Fisk said tightly, "Let me rephrase: How did you get past security?"

Angel shrugged. "I didn't." Before the ADA could erupt in anger, Angel said, "I'll tell you how I got into the building after the meeting's done. I promise."

"I suppose that's the best I can do. Now. Dr. Vaughn. You were about to give us your report on what you learned from your last session with Daria Morgendorffer."

"Yes. As I said, I'd never hypnotized the Daria persona before. What I learned when I did . . ." And she went on to tell everyone exactly what she'd discovered about why and how Daria Morgendorffer had become Faith Lehane. How Daria had come home and found her father and sister dead. How Harbaugh had shot Helen Morgendorffer after forcing her and Daria to play a game of rock, paper, scissors. And how she'd fainted and woken up staring at Harbaugh's graffiti on the wall, written in her mother's blood. "HAVE FAITH."

It was astonishing and horrifying. And by the end of it, Angel understood Faith and the demons that had been driving her long before she'd ever encountered any actual demons.

Angel noticed that even though Carla Fisk had obviously heard the story before, she was listening as closely as everyone else.

When Dr. Vaughn was done, Angel spoke first. "Harbaugh's on death row, right?"

"Right," Carla Fisk said.

"Any chance of him getting out?"

"He's on death row in _Texas."_

"Sorry," Angel said. "Stupid question."

Amy Barksdale was still trying to recover. "That's good to know," she said, finally. "It means I won't have to kill him myself." Then, her eyes narrowing, she said, "Because on the off chance the Texas justice system or the Supreme Court screws up royally and Willard Jay Harbaugh gets back out on the streets, his life span will be measured out in minutes."

"And that's if I don't get to him first," Angel said. Here, at least, was something he and Amy Barksdale agreed on.

Carla Fisk said, "I'll take those to be an understandable emotional reaction, and not actual death threats, which as an officer of the court I would be obliged to report to the police."

"Take it however you like," Amy said.

"I . . . appreciate the information," Maggie Silber said, trying to restore at least a facade of formality to the situation. "It certainly gives a lot of weight to the idea that Faith Lehane was not responsible for her actions and needs mental help, not incarceration."

"You're partly right," the ADA said. "It's concrete proof that _Daria Morgendorffer_ bears no responsibility for the crimes she committed as Faith Lehane. Dr. Vaughn has made it clear that neither the Faith nor Daria personas are, in her opinion, legally insane. It is the official judgment of this DA's office that Faith Lehane still poses a danger to society -- we will stipulate to her good behavior since entering jail, and her apparently sincere desire for redemption --"

"That's good," Angel said sarcastically. "She turned herself in and confessed and you're willing to stipulate that her desire is sincere. Thank you for making that concession. It must have been hard for you."

Carla Fisk shot him a dirty look. "As I was saying," she continued, "One year of good behavior is not enough time, in our opinion, to judge that she no longer poses this danger. Daria Morgendorffer, on the other hand, poses no threat at all and we believe that she should eventually be released."

"You can't release Daria without releasing Faith," Angel said.

"Of course we can," Dr. Vaughn said bitterly. "All we need to do is make sure that, when Daria's released, Faith's no longer there."

Amy Barksdale said, "I thought integration was the usual way to fix multiple personalities."

"In Dr. Vaughn's opinion," Carla Fisk said, "This isn't really practical in this case."

Sighing, Dr. Vaughn said, "Unfortunately, she's right. Faith and Daria's personalities are too different. They have very little in common, except for their intelligence and their tendency to keep people at arm's length. I don't believe they could be effectively combined." Dr. Vaughn clearly was not happy about any of this.

"And," Carla Fisk continued smoothly, "As we believe that Faith Lehane cannot be safely released, while Daria Morgendorffer can --"

"Somehow I doubt this is going to be a Solomon-like solution," Angel said.

"Split her in half?" the ADA said. "Well, I suppose in theory you could -- with Ms. Morgendorffer being free while Ms. Lehane had to stay in jail. But that's hardly practical." She shook her head. "No. As far as the DA's office is concerned the only real solution is to simply eliminate the Faith personality."

"No," Angel said, while noticing with horror that Amy Barksdale was shaking her head approvingly.

"Why not?" the ADA asked. "It's the ideal solution for everyone involved."

"Everyone except Faith," Angel said.

Amy Barksdale said, "Faith doesn't exist."

"Then who confessed to those crimes? Who's been in jail for the last fifteen months? Who was sobbing in my arms in that alley?" After a pause, Angel said, "You live through what I've lived through, what she's lived through, and then you tell me she doesn't exist."

"You live through what I did and tell me she does," Amy said.

"I've read your book, Ms. Barksdale," Angel said. "A friend of mine gave me a copy a couple of days ago after we first found out about this situation. It's powerful writing. You express your loss quite eloquently." After a second, he said, "One of the things you made the clearest is how much you regretted not having kept in closer touch with your sister and her family. How much you wish that your childhood animosity hadn't caused you to stay away from all of them. And how it brought you and your surviving sister closer together. I'm not joking when I say that I found that very moving."

"Thank you," Amy said, a bit confusedly.

"You're welcome. I mean every word. But here's the thing. You hadn't seen your niece for ten years when she disappeared. _I've spent more time with Faith in the last two and a half years than you have with Daria in your entire life_. Don't you _dare_ say she doesn't exist. Faith exists. She walks, she talks, she breathes, she suffers."

"She kills people," Amy said. "She commits crimes."

"And she's paying for it," Angel said. "I'm not saying Faith hasn't done horrible things, or that Daria has. I'm just saying that in the four years she was Faith she earned the right to exist."

"Murderers get the death penalty," Amy said.

"Faith's actually already been sentenced for that," Angel said. "And you don't believe in the death penalty."

Amy chuckled humorlessly. "You read the book. Right. I shouldn't have even used that argument. It was stupid, and it was mean, and I should have known better. I'm sorry. And you're absolutely right, Angel. If Faith were anyone else who'd committed the crimes she did, I'd be absolutely opposed to her receiving the death penalty. Just like I would be anyone else who was actually alive. But _she's not alive,_ Angel. She's a thief who's stolen my niece's body." Then she paused for a second. "You can't blame me for wanting my niece back, Angel. Yes, I didn't know her as well as I should have. That was my mistake. I love Daria. Maybe I should have shown it more back then, but it doesn't make it any less true now."

And the hell of it was, as near as Angel could tell, Amy Barksdale wasn't lying. She was the worst kind of 'enemy,' if enemy was even the right word. She was not only convinced she was right, she had the highest of motivations: genuine love of family. Angel couldn't hate her, or even really dislike her. She was a good person, all told.

That still didn't mean she was on the right side in this particular instance, though.

"I'm not claiming otherwise," Angel said. "I have nothing against Daria Morgendorffer. She deserves a life of her own --"

"And," Carla Fisk said, "As far as the DA's office is concerned, the only way Daria Morgendorffer will get a life of her own is if she does it without Faith Lehane being part of her."

"I seriously doubt Faith will agree to being wiped out of existence," Angel said.

"Daria won't consent to it either," Dr. Vaughn said. "She and Faith are able to communicate in their dreams in some way. Daria agreed to resist any 'solution' to her problem that involves the loss of Faith."

"To me, that's a fair trade," Amy Barksdale said. "I get my niece back --"

"Your niece won't be too happy with you," Dr. Vaughn said.

"She's alive. She'll be free," Amy said. "And she'll be able to live her own life. That's the important thing. If making sure she has the opportunity to do those things costs me any chance of being close to her again, I'm willing to take that chance."

The highest motives. She wasn't even doing this for herself. Damn. It was a lot easier when you could simply despise your opponent.

"In any event, Daria and Faith's wishes probably aren't going to mean anything for a while after tomorrow," Carla Fisk said.

"Why not?" Maggie Silber said, her eyes narrowing.

"Because I've managed to get an emergency hearing with the district court tomorrow afternoon questioning Ms. Morgendorffer's competency to make her own decisions, using Dr. Vaughn's report as my basis."

That surprised Angel. "I got the impression you were opposed to this."

"I am," Dr. Vaughn said. "By the way, Carla, don't plan on calling me as a witness. I'll make a hostile one."

"The report should be enough," the ADA said. "Anyway, assuming this is granted -- well, the state was going to take guardianship, but Ms, Barksdale, if you want it --"

"I'll take it," she said. "It would horribly inconvenience my sister. Me, I'm a writer. Give me a laptop and easy access to the internet and a library and I'm good for a while."

Maggie Silber said, "You realize that I'm going to fight you on this -- up to and including getting the court to postpone the hearing. I hardly see what about this qualifies as an emergency, and nothing I've seen of either Faith Lehane or Daria Morgendorffer in any way indicates their incompetence."

"Except the fact that they're the same person," Carla Fisk said. "Look. The DA's office is determined to do this. We think it's best for Daria Morgendorffer and everyone. She gets out of jail; the Barksdale sisters get their niece back; and the DA's office gets to not release a dangerous criminal back onto the streets. Everybody wins."

"Everybody except Faith," Angel said. "Look. You're setting this up as a dichotomy, both of you," gesturing at Amy and Carla. "But it's not. It's not either Faith or Daria. It could be both."

Amy said, sympathetically, "You don't want to lose her either."

"No. I don't. I think she's earned the right to exist."

"I understand that now," Amy said. "I'm not sure what it is about Faith that's earned her this loyalty from you. There must be something more to her than the record indicates. And you seem like a good man."

"Thank you," Angel said, a bit confusedly.

Smiling slightly, Amy said, "You're welcome. I mean every word. But it is a dichotomy, now. You may think it's a false one, but if I want Daria back, Faith can't come with her. I'm sorry to do this, now. But a choice between a free and surly Daria or one stuck in jail for the next 20 years is no choice at all."

"I could get her out, eventually," Maggie Silber said.

"Key word: Eventually. Daria's suffered enough. I'm sorry, Angel, Maggie, Dr. Vaughn. Ms. Fisk, I'll be there. When's the hearing?"

"1:30 PM before Judge Knott."

"Lest ye be judged?" Amy said.

The ADA chuckled. "Get that out of your system now. The last person who said it to his face nearly went up on contempt charges."

Angel stood up. "Fascinating as this look into the quirks of our court officials are, it seems the decision has been made. Mrs. Silber, I'd appreciate it if you'd do whatever you could to fight this."

"I will," she said grimly.

"Will you still give me a ride back to my hotel?" Amy Barksdale said.

"Of course. I may not like what you're doing but I'm not going to be a complete bitch and strand you here."

As Angel turned to go, he caught Dr. Vaughn's eye.

Behind the defeat in the woman's eyes, there was something else. Determination.

Determination to do what, Angel wasn't sure. But he would bet that the road to declaring Faith incompetent was not going to be as smooth as Carla Fisk would have liked.

"Angel," Carla Fisk said. "You told me you'd tell me where the holes in our security were."

"Ms. Fisk," Angel said. "I may not like what you're doing, but I know one thing: I can run faster than you."

Then he left.


	19. Chapter 19

Author's Note: Many thanks for the vast multiplicity of reviews, and apologies for taking so long to finish this part. I was at my college homecoming all weekend and didn't have a whole lot of time to write.

Disclaimer: Daria and Amy are Glenn Eichler's. Faith and Angel are Joss Whedon's. Carla, Lynette and Bonita are mine.

X X X X X

Daria woke up Monday morning early, before the guards came around to rouse everyone for breakfast. That night, there had been no special dream. Daria had intended to pinch Faith in return if she got the chance, but the only dreams she had were normal ones.

Blinking her eyes, she looked at the book, still sitting on the floor next to her bunk.

There was enough light for her to read, if she wanted to.

Did she want to?

There was one chapter left in _April 10, 1997._ The central chapter to the book: the chapter dealing with the death of her family.

Did she really need to know the details?

And the answer remained, "no."

Maybe one day she'd be ready to learn what had happened; what Willard Jay Harbaugh had done to turn her into Faith.

But not yet.

And honestly, even if there was nothing in the book she could learn -- even if nothing triggered those memories that Dr. Vaughn had promised not to reveal to her -- it was still about her parents and her sister being murdered.

They were dead. How they'd died, why they'd died, what they'd died from, all of that was irrelevant.

She sighed, got up, and went to the bathroom -- the biggest problem she'd actually had so far, actually, was using a toilet completely open to public view the way hers was. Daria had always been an extremely private and modest person. She was just grateful that somehow, Faith wasn't sharing a cell with anyone else. It would have made going to the bathroom almost unbearably embarrassing.

Anyway, once she was done, she went back to bed and lay down.

Sleep didn't come.

At best, thinking that it would had been a bad idea.

X X X X X

Angel woke up Monday morning depressed and angry -- with the system, with himself, with Willard Jay Harbaugh, with Carla Fisk, and with the Watcher's Council.

He'd made it down the stairs and into the building's basement without incident. Either Carla Fisk hadn't sent anyone after him, or he really had been that fast.

Either way, once he'd made it back to the Hyperion, he'd made a point of calling her and explaining that the building was accessible through the sewer system.

"You came up through the sewer system?" she'd asked. "How did you know how to get here?"

"You'd be amazed how often it comes up," Angel had said. "Look. I promised you I'd tell you, and I've told you. If I figured it out, other people could, also -- people who aren't as nice as I am."

"So if you were going to tell me anyway, why did you run off like that?"

"I ran off," Angel had said, "Because what you're doing to Faith ticks me off, and still ticks me off. I told you because, despite what you plan on doing to Faith, I believe that you believe you're doing the right thing." And because he had no interest in seeing news stories leading off with, "Fourteen people were killed at the LA District Attorney's office today when a gang of disfigured men invaded, apparently through the sewers." Of course, he could hardly tell that to Carla Fisk.

"I'm glad you told me," the ADA'd said. "The next time you try to get in via that route you'll find it blocked."

"The next time I come to the DA's office I'll come in through the front door." He wasn't planning to go there again at all.

He'd racked his brains for the rest of the day yesterday going over ideas of how to help Faith; he'd even dragged Wesley in to help. (While Angel wasn't in charge of Angel Investigations anymore, Wesley was sufficiently ashamed of how he and the Watcher's Council had handled Faith/Daria that Angel probably could have enlisted him in an effort to storm the prison if he'd tried hard enough.)

Between the two of them they'd gone over and dismissed magic, bribery, blackmail, sweet reason, and, yes, brute force. Bribery and blackmail stood too great a chance of backfiring; brute force would get them arrested or killed; and Angel had already tried to be reasonable and failed.

Magic was the only one that seemed like it would stand even a remote chance of success; the problem was, the magic they could think of would either, at the end, still leave Faith/Daria a fugitive, or would be an act of possibly even greater evil.

The only thing they did was find an entry from the sewers into the courthouse where Judge Knott usually did his business, so that Angel could at least observe the proceedings, and maybe testify.

It was all he could do, since he couldn't come up with another idea.

X X X X X

Amy Barksdale woke up Monday morning not so much convinced she was doing the right thing as the least wrong thing.

Her discussion the previous night with Rita hadn't helped matters. Not that Rita had disagreed with Carla Fisk's proposed course of action; far from it. She'd been wildly enthusiastic about it. She didn't even want to hear about Amy's doubts.

Rita's problem was that Rita, no matter that Amy loved her and was closer to her now, was simply not a deep person. To Rita, everything was black and white, right or wrong. There were no shades of gray in the world. And hearing Amy express the slightest hesitation was cause for Rita to start ranting about how she "Always saw _everything_ as something that needed to be discussed." It had gone downhill from there until, reverting back to the old days, they'd hung up still screaming at each other. Rita wouldn't arrive in Los Angeles today until after the hearing was over. Thank the gods for small favors.

In her emotion, excitement, and anger, Amy Barksdale had started out that way; she'd told Faith upon their first meeting that she hoped it was also their last meeting.

She hadn't changed that opinion, not really. But she wished, at least, she hadn't come off as such a hard-ass about it. The Faith persona did have her own identity and her own set of people who cared about her -- this Angel, if no one else. It was only natural that they'd be upset about the prospect of her going away forever. She should have realized that from the beginning, and tried to be nicer about the whole thing. This was a morally ambiguous area.

She still would do whatever it took to get Daria back, and free; she'd go to that trial, and, even over Daria/Faith's own objections, assume her guardianship and have her treated.

On balance, Amy still saw that as the right thing to do.

But it was a narrow, narrow decision.

If there was a way for her to get Daria out of jail while keeping Faith around, no matter that Faith had killed people, she'd do it as long as she was convinced that Faith was no longer dangerous. Even the ADA seemed willing to stipulate Faith's sincere desire to make up for her crimes.

But that wasn't an option, and she couldn't really blame Carla Fisk for not seeing it as one. Amy didn't care much about publicity, but she fully understood how the LA DA's office ran by different standards. (And after OJ, McMartin, and the trial of the four officers who'd beaten Rodney King into a bloody pulp, she could even understand why they would be extra sensitive about _any_ negative publicity.)

So she would be complicit in killing off an independent personality.

How she'd handle Daria's anger after she was finally released, she had no idea.

X X X X X

Bonita Juarez woke up Monday morning grateful she was simply a prison warden.

Lynette and Carla had both called her giving their interpretations of what had happened in the DA's office after she'd left.

She'd laughed when she heard how the PI had simply run out of the building -- had to give the man credit for guts, if not brains. Beyond that, though, Lynette was still complaining about how unfair it was, and Carla was happy about having gotten Faith's aunt to go along with her plans.

All in all, it made Bonita glad that she really didn't have anything to do with the decision-making in this case. The headaches, thank goodness, belonged to somebody else. All she had to do was make sure the prison ran smoothly. She was amazed she could say that with a straight face, but she could.

She felt sorry for everyone else involved; for Lynette, for Carla, for Amy Barksdale, and especially for Faith and Daria. But at least she was out of it.

It was looking more and more like her decision to leave after the morning brainstorming session had been a good idea.

X X X X X

Carla Fisk woke up Monday morning in a good mood, all things considered. She'd discovered -- accidentally, but that still counted -- a security leak in the DA's office and taken steps to have it plugged up. (For the moment, they'd simply moved some boxes on top of the sewer access. There was some obscure regulation mandating that they couldn't simply create a new concrete floor on top of it, so eventually they were going to make sure it couldn't be opened readily from underneath, and put locks on the door that led to the room containing the access.)

She'd been a bit pissed when that PI Angel had run off, but eventually, after talking to Bonnie Juarez, had seen the humor in it. She'd still had plans to investigate him and his credentials until he'd called a couple of hours later and told her what she'd promised.

She couldn't even fault his motives. Eventually, though, Carla hoped he and Dr. Vaughn would understand that Carla was doing this all for the greater good -- good for Daria Morgendorffer, good for her family, good for the city of Los Angeles and the state of California.

For the moment, she'd have to settle for them not getting in her way. Dr. Vaughn had made that promise, and given what Angel had done in the office yesterday he wouldn't make a particularly good character witness. Faith Lehane's record, Carla felt, would speak for itself quite eloquently against anything he could say.

Certainly, Lehane had been a model prisoner; doing everything she could to show that she was sincere in her desire to pay for her crimes; she'd even been going for her GED, which was kind of ambitious considering that when she started she knew she wasn't likely to get out for another twelve years or so, minimum.

But what she'd done before that had been violent, and bloody, and decidedly antisocial. Lehane's desire to reform was no doubt genuine; that still didn't mean she couldn't pose a danger to society. If Carla lost the emergency hearing, she'd file for a regular hearing, and in the interim she'd make damn sure Faith Lehane aka Daria Morgendorffer stayed in jail until the situation was resolved the way she knew it needed to be resolved.

Yes, this would be unfair to Daria Morgendorffer, who was the most obvious victim in all of this. But it would still be, overall, best for everyone involved, and that was the ideal she worked towards.

And honestly, as far as handling the situation went, she hadn't heard anyone else come up with a better idea.

X X X X X

Dr. Lynette Vaughn woke up Monday morning, after a lousy night's sleep, resolved to help Daria Morgendorffer/Faith Lehane however she could.

She'd promised Carla Fisk she wouldn't interfere with the emergency hearing today; and she wouldn't. If another hearing came around, she made no guarantees; but by that point, "Faith" would likely be gone for good.

She hated being put in this position. Ninety-five times out of 100, she agreed with the DA's office. One of the reasons she worked for the city of Los Angeles, doing this, is because she believed that -- not that the prisoners didn't need help; a lot of the times they did. But they were exaggerating some symptoms, or faking them, to get out, to get off, to get drugs. Even after she exposed their fakery, though, she continued trying to help them with the problems they did have.

Faith was different. Her DID was genuine. And because of it, the city of Los Angeles was going to do its best to make sure she ceased to exist.

Lynette wasn't going to let that happen.

Simple determination wasn't going to be enough, though. The world was full of people whose "motive was clear, whose will was strong, and who were just as dead as if they'd been wrong."

But Lynette had more than determination.

She had an idea.


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: Those characters who were not created by Joss Whedon or Glenn Eichler were created by me.

X X X X X

After breakfast, it was time for Daria to do Faith's job for a while. There were two morning classes, the first one a life skills class given to inmates who were within six months of being released, the second a GED prep class. Daria could see the benefits of the second one. The first one struck her as being very easy to game. All one would need to do is figure out the answers the teacher wanted to hear and say them. From what she observed while handing out papers, that was exactly what about half the students in the class were doing.

Well, she supposed the ability to tell authority figures what they wanted to hear was a life skill.

Halfway through the GED prep class, one of the guards -- the older one who'd come around yesterday morning and asked her if she wanted to go to religious services -- came in and told her she was needed elsewhere. The teacher protested mildly, but the guard said, "I have my orders."

So Daria got led through the prison halls back to a very familiar room.

"Same rules as always, Lehane," the guard said.

"Yeah, I know. Don't try to escape till you're off duty so you won't get blamed for it."

"Exactly," the guard said, smirking. "Have fun."

Dr. Vaughn was sitting there.

As soon as the door closed, Daria dropped the pretense of being Faith. "Dr. Vaughn," she said. "This is a surprise. And probably an unpleasant one."

Dr. Vaughn said, "Daria? How long?"

"Since Saturday night," Daria said. "Faith and I had another shared dream, and at the end she pinched me again. I've been here ever since. You know," she said, taking on Faith's intonations, "It ain't hard to fool people 'round here, Doc. Ain't no reason for them to think I wasn't Faith, so they see me, they think Faith, not 'who's that girl who looks like Faith?' You know?"

"No one's been suspicious?"

Still mimicking Faith, Daria said, "Well, there was this one got a little suspicious when I didn't make with the worshippin' yesterday, but even he bought the excuse that I needed to do some studyin'."

Shaking her head, Dr. Vaughn said, "Daria, are you actually accessing Faith's memories? Because that's an uncanny impression."

"No," Daria said, resuming her own voice, "I've always had something of a talent for imitating voices. Were I less ethical, I could have made a small fortune from my sister by taking money to imitate our mother and excuse her from school. Or possibly, if I'd liked my sister better." She was sorry she'd said it as soon as the words came out of her mouth.

Either Dr. Vaughn didn't notice, or she had more important things to worry about. "Damn. I was hoping you were spontaneously integrating."

"No such luck," Daria said. "I've discovered that I can fight like Faith -- muscle memory. But I don't actually have any knowledge of fights she's had. She's also told me about her history, so I know about the things she's done. But the only memory I have that I can't place is still the one of those dark, giant letters spelling out 'HAVE FAITH.' And that's even after I read my aunt's book."

"It was a long shot anyway." After a second, "You read your aunt's book?"

"Everything but the chapter on my family's deaths. I couldn't take that."

"Understandable." She seemed somehow disappointed that Daria hadn't been able to bring herself to read that part of _April 10, 1997_.

"But you're still disappointed that I couldn't?"

"Not disappointed, exactly," Dr. Vaughn said. "I wish you could have done so, but in the long run it doesn't really matter. Your inability to consciously deal with the details of their deaths is a niggling thing, all things considered. You may never be able to learn the details. It doesn't detract from your mental stability."

"Hmmm. And I thought psychiatrists were all about forcing people to confront parts of themselves they didn't want to confront, all in the name of 'the greater good.'"

Dr. Vaughn winced at that last phrase, but said, "Only when it _does_ serve some greater good, in the long run. I have all the details I need, and even if you live the rest of your life unable to face the events of April 10, 1997, it's not likely to affect you. There is no 'greater good' involved here." After a second, "It's taken me a while to figure this out, but you don't have a high opinion of psychiatrists, do you?"

"And I thought you people were supposed to be so insightful," Daria said with a faint grin. "It's not that I don't have a high opinion of psychiatrists. I don't have a high opinion of _anyone_." Then, more seriously, "You actually seem to take your work seriously, and you don't seem wedded to any particular theory, which you will then twist the available facts to fit. That alone puts you ahead of 99 percent of the people on the planet. So while I may not have a high opinion of anyone, my opinion of you is less low than it is of most." After a pause, the Mona Lisa smile returned. "Slightly less low."

"So you trust me?"

"As much as I trust anyone, under the circumstances -- anyone except Faith."

Dr. Vaughn frowned slightly at that; whether it was a frown of annoyance or confusion, Daria couldn't say. "Why do you trust Faith?"

"Because, so far, everything she's told me has been the truth. She could have pretended to have been an innocent victim, unjustly incarcerated, in order to enlist my aid in trying to make sure that in the long run she sticks around; she's done nothing of the sort. To the contrary: She's given me a near-exhaustive list of the crimes she's committed, and her sexual habits. Which, by the way, would put Don Juan to shame. I suspect the only reason she didn't start detailing her traffic violations is because we didn't have the time."

"Do you like Faith?"

"I'm not sure the question even applies," Daria said. "She's part of me. Would I have been friends with her if we'd been different people? Almost certainly, no. But we're kind of stuck with each other. Given that, I'd rather try to get along with her than be her enemy."

Dr. Vaughn asked, "Would you prefer not to have her around?"

"In an ideal world, sure. Of course, in an ideal world, my parents and Quinn would still be alive and I'd currently be ending up my sophomore year at St. John's College, or Raft, or someplace like that. This world is so far from my ideal I suspect, like Mark Twain, that God is a malign thug. It's not about what I prefer. She's around. In some fashion, she will be around for the rest of my life. I'm going to have to deal with that."

"Mature attitude," Dr. Vaughn said.

Daria said, "Mature, hell. It's not mature to accept something you have no choice about. It's simply not being a moron." After a second, "Anyway, I assume at some point you're going to want to talk to Faith."

"Of course," she said. "It doesn't have to be now --"

"No," Daria said. "You may as well get it over with. It'll mean canceling that racquetball appointment with the governor, but I think I can fit you in."

"Faith Ellen Leha--"

X X X X X

The emergency hearing went exactly as Angel had feared it would. Carla Fisk was an excellent and persuasive speaker, and backed up by Dr. Vaughn's report and the willingness of Amy Barksdale to serve as the person to make decisions on Faith Lehane aka Daria Morgendorffer's behalf, she had no trouble getting Faith declared temporarily mentally incompetent.

Maggie Silber did the best she could -- she was no slouch in the "persuasive speaker" department -- but, as she'd told Angel shortly before the hearing, judges in these cases almost always sided with the prosecution. Unless Maggie had been able to come up with spectacular evidence or an argument worthy of Cicero, Faith was doomed.

And unfortunately, she'd been right.

Angel did notice a couple of people at the back of the room whose head shot up when they heard the name "Daria Morgendorffer." Angel sidled up to the nearest and said quietly, "Does that name mean something to you?"

"Damn right it does," the man said quietly but excitedly. "Daria Morgendorffer disappeared four years ago. Case got all kinds of publicity. And now she's been found in jail going under a different name and there's a psychiatric disorder involved? Oh yeah. This is a story."

"I'm a private detective. My name's Angel," he said, handing the man his business card.

"Kal Endicott," the man said, taking it. "What's your connection to this?"

"I'm a friend of Miss Lehane's -- that's the name I know her by, anyway. If Ms. Fisk and Amy Barksdale don't want to talk to you, give me a call. I'll tell you everything."

X X X X X

Carla Fisk couldn't have been happier with the way things went at the appeal. She'd been nervous that Maggie Silber would find some way to a pull a last-minute miracle and get the judge to reject the declaration of incompetence, but she didn't. And while Angel had come, he didn't testify. Good thing; despite his juvenile prank yesterday he seemed like a good-hearted person, and Carla would have hated to have had to rake him over the coals.

She would have; it was her job. But she wouldn't have liked it.

After they were done, on their way out of the courtroom Amy Barksdale turned to her and said, "What now?"

"Well, now you're in charge," Carla said. "So, assuming you still agree with me on how to handle the matter of her multiple personalities --"

"I do," Amy said. "I have to." Then they saw Maggie Silber enter the courtroom. "Mrs. Silber!" she said over the bustle of the courtroom hallway.

"Yes?" the woman said.

"I'd like you to continue being Daria's lawyer," Amy said.

"Yes," Mrs. Silber said. "Because I've clearly done such a good job of it so far."

"The deck was stacked against you," Carla said. "You know that."

"And you still came up with a hell of a case," Amy added.

"Well, I don't count moral victories as successes. And at this point I don't know what you'd want me to do."

"Do what you've been doing," Amy said. "Look out for her interests."

Mrs. Silber shook her head. "I can't do that, at this point. 'Her interests' have already been compromised, in my opinion. A young woman who is perfectly capable of looking out for herself has just told she can no longer do so. You're still bound and determined to eliminate the Faith persona despite their stated wishes. I can't in good conscience work for you under the circumstances."

Amy Barksdale looked at her and said, "I'm sorry to hear that. For what it's worth, I also agree that it's a bad idea. But, as the saying goes, 'It may be a crooked game, but it's the only game in town.' I'd at least like to reserve the right to call you in the future."

Nodding, Mrs. Silber said, "You're free to do so. Whether I'll listen is another matter entirely. Good day." As Mrs. Silber left, a young black man in a mismatched business suit came up to Carla and Amy.

"Ms. Fisk. Ms. Barksdale. Is what I just heard in there true?"

"No," Carla said sarcastically. "I'm often in the habit of lying to judges to win cases."

Scribbling something down on a small notepad, the man said, ". . . in the habit of lying to judges . . ." He raised his head and grinned. "Thanks, Ms. Fisk. That's not the headline I was hoping for when I heard you mention the name Daria Morgendorffer, but it'll do." He gestured in the air as though pointing out words: "LA ADA Admits Lying to Judges to Win Cases. This should make my career."

Irritably, Carla said, "I was joking, Mr. . . ."

"Endicott. Kal Endicott. _LA Times_," he said, still grinning. "And I knew that. Now. I heard you say that Faith Lehane, who's currently in jail for two counts of second-degree murder, is actually Daria Morgendorffer, the missing girl from the Willard Jay Harbaugh murders of four years ago."

"That's correct," Carla said.

Mr. Endicott said, "I also heard you say that multiple personality disorder was involved . . ."

"Anything you heard me say in the courtroom," Carla said, "You can assume I was telling the truth on. I'm not prepared to make any other statement at this time." She'd been hoping no one would notice quite yet. The LA court system was big enough that there couldn't possibly be a reporter in every courtroom. It had just been bad luck that this second-stringer for the _Times_ happened to be in the, for her, wrong place at the wrong time.

"Fair enough. I think I have enough to get started anyway. Ms. Barksdale --"

"No comment."

"Just confirm one thing for me and I'll quit bothering you for the moment. Are you _the_ Amy Barksdale, who wrote the book on the Harbaugh murder spree?"

Deadpan, Amy said, "No. It's just an amusing coincidence."

"So that would be a yes?"

"That would be a yes. I'm Daria Morgendorffer's maternal aunt."

"Thank you," he said cheerfully. "Ms. Fisk. Ms. Barksdale. Have a good day."

After he left, Amy said, "So how long does that give us before the shit officially hits the fan?"

"The good news is that the _Times_ is likely to want to keep this as an exclusive. The bad news is that I'd say the odds are one in ten they pull it off. So I'd say anywhere from two hours till tomorrow morning."

"So if I want to quietly get Daria started on a program to have the Faith personality removed, I'd better do it now?" Carla nodded. "I'll get to work, then. I'd appreciate a list of the more reputable ones, though. I've heard horror stories about some of these places --"

"Despite Daria being declared mentally unfit to take responsibility for her own actions, though, you don't have to have her moved to an institution. You can simply have her sessions take place at the prison, if you think that would be easier."

"I do. And thanks." They parted company there.

The first non-internal call she got that afternoon, to her mild surprise, wasn't from Kal Endicott or any other reporter.

It was from Lynette Vaughn. "I hope you're happy," she said angrily, without preamble. "It's done. There is no more Faith." Then she hung up.

Okay, what the hell?


	21. Chapter 21

Author's Note: A bit shorter than the usual part. But then, I'm going away for the weekend, so I won't be able to get any writing done until Sunday night at the latest.

Disclaimer: Joss, Glenn, me.

X X X X X

Earlier:

"So," Linwood Murrow said abruptly, "You have an update on the Faith situation?"

Lilah Morgan smiled. "Yes, I do. Assistant District Attorney Carla Fisk and Amy Barksdale -- the aunt of Daria Morgendorffer, Faith's 'true identity' -- are going to court at 1:30 PM this afternoon in an effort to have Faith declared mentally incompetent. They will then appoint Ms. Barksdale as Faith's _guardian ad litem _until she's once again, in their opinion, mentally capable."

"Interesting," Linwood said, "But hardly worth a special update."

"You'd think so if you didn't know what their planned treatment was." She handed Linwood a thin folder. He opened it and gave the contents a quick perusal. Inside the folder were both a copy of Dr. Lynette Vaughn's report on the mental condition of Faith Lehane aka Daria Morgendorffer, and a copy of ADA Fisk's official judgment as to what the city of Los Angeles; course of action should be in the matter.

Linwood was a fast reader. After about ninety seconds he broke out into a wide grin and said, "They're planning to get rid of the Faith personality altogether."

"Yes, they are," Lilah said. "Which is why my recommendation is that we not only not take this opportunity to eliminate her, but that we in fact place some of our resources into protecting her. Any competent psychiatrist would be able, eventually, to bring about the removal of the Faith personality. And once Faith is gone --"

"No more Slayer," Linwood said.

"At least, no more _trained_ Slayer. Daria Morgendorffer's personality, from all of our researches, is hardly the type of person to want to go out and risk her life to save mankind. She's an academic, not a fighter. And as Faith Lehane, at the moment, is the Slayer through whom the Slayer line descends," Lilah said, "The longer we keep Daria Morgendorffer alive --"

"The longer it is we won't have to deal with a new Slayer," Linwood said. "And Buffy Summers?"

"By and large tends to stick to Sunnydale. I don't foresee that ending anytime soon. More to the point, neither do our psychics."

Linwood nodded. "And what about the Watcher's Council? Once they realize that the Slayer line goes through someone who has no interest in Slaying, won't they send some of their hit squads?"

"Last winter, the night Faith surrendered herself," Lilah began, "The Council did just that. Angel and his allies defeated them quite readily. I don't think they're interested in tangling with him again. And if they decide they are, we can always send in a few mercenaries to even the odds. Yes, there will be expenses, but I think the hassle we save in the long run will more than make up for the expenses we incur from surveillance and occasional mercenaries."

"Hmmm," Linwood said. "So you think we should actually spend our hard-earned money protecting one of the 'good guys'?"

"Yes, sir," Lilah said. "I do."

"Outside-the-box thinking," Linwood said. "I like that, Lilah. Make it happen."

Lilah recognized a dismissal when she heard one. She nodded to Linwood, turned around, and left the office.

This was shaping up to be a good day . . .

X X X X X

Also earlier:

Daria was surprised to come back to herself on what looked like the same day. At least, it was the same day, if Dr. Vaughn's clothes were any indication.

"Just to check," she said, "This is still April 9, 2001, right?"

"You're right," Dr. Vaughn said. "It is."

"Then I'm confused. Did Faith ask you to give me some more practice at being me?"

Dr. Vaughn shook her head. "No. Not exactly." Then she took a deep breath. "Faith Ellen Lehane."

Nothing happened. After a few seconds, Daria said, "I'm still me."

"You are."

"I'm guessing you wouldn't be telling me this if all you'd done was simply change the trigger phrase."

"You're right. I wouldn't."

Daria was fairly sure that she knew what had happened, but wanted confirmation before she got angry. "So. There is no more Faith."

"No," Dr. Vaughn said. "There isn't."

"God _damn_ you," Daria said coldly. "I promised her. You _knew_ I'd promised her."

"I know," Dr. Vaughn said sadly. "And I wouldn't have done this if I'd had any other choice. Unfortunately, I didn't."

"So I guess the guns pointed at your head are invisible," Daria said. "Who knew how far technology would come in only four years? Any minute now I expect to be beamed out of here." Then, glaring at Dr, Vaughn, she said, "In fact, I'm hoping for it."

"I get that you're upset," Dr. Vaughn said.

Daria said, "What was your first clue, Poirot?"

In a badly misguided effort to be soothing, Dr. Vaughn said, "Daria, you might want to calm down. The guard's looking through the window and you don't want --"

"I think you've lost any right to determine what I do or do not want," Daria said. "And I know one of the things I don't want to do is talk to you any longer. Now. If you'd like to be spared the sight of me smashing this table into bits with my bare hands --" she wasn't entirely sure of Faith's strength level, but was sure she could crack the thing in two if she got a couple of blows in -- "Then I'd suggest you contact the guard yourself and tell him the session is over. I can wait in here until lunch."

"I'm sorry, Daria," she said.

"Me too. Sorry that, even for a second, I trusted you."

Wisely, Dr. Vaughn didn't say anything else. She picked up her notebook and pen, stood up, and left the room.

The guard stuck his head in a minute or so later. "The doc said she had to leave early; you're gonna have to stay in here until lunchtime."

"I understand," Daria said. "I'm not really that hungry, anyway."

"You're not hungry, Lehane? Guess it's time for me to go play those lottery tickets." And chuckling, he shut the door.

Damn it! Damn it, damn it, damn it!

X X X X X

When Amy Barksdale got the phone call from Carla Fisk, she had just dropped Rita off at the hotel and was headed off to the LA County Jail to explain the situation to Daria. (After the fiasco of having had to rely yesterday on Maggie Silber for transportation, she'd rented a car.) On the drive back to the hotel, they'd both apologized for their argument of yesterday. Amy didn't feel as though she had anything to apologize for, but one thing she'd learned in this family is that that was when you needed to apologize the most.

Rita had begged off going to the prison, claiming fatigue from the trip. Amy guessed that she didn't want to see her niece in jail, at least not without fortifying herself. She'd try to get her to come out again tomorrow.

"Ms. Barksdale?"

"Ms. Fisk. This is a surprise." Under the circumstances, surprises were not good. "What's wrong? Did Maggie Silber pull a last-minute rabbit out of her hat?"

"Someone pulled a rabbit out of their hat," Carla said, "But it wasn't Maggie Silber. It was Dr. Vaughn."

"I get the distinct impression that this particular rabbit is something from _Night of the Lepus_."

"If by that you mean it's not good, you're right," Carla said. "Here is what she told me, verbatim: 'I hope you're happy. It's done. There is no more Faith.'"

Amy had a horrid thought. "Is Daria still alive?"

"Yes. I didn't think she wasn't, but I called the prison to check. Anyway, if Daria were dead, Dr. Vaughn would have told me that. She said there was no more _Faith_. I tried calling her back to get clarification and was shuttled right to her voice mail."

"Do you have any idea where she practices when she's not helping prisoners?"

"No," she said. "But I can give you her phone number. Maybe you'll have better luck getting through than I am."

Amy pulled into a convenience store parking lot and wrote down the number. She thanked the ADA, and after hanging up, called Lynette Vaughn immediately.

"Vaughn residence, this is Lynette," the voice said.

"Dr. Vaughn? This is Amy Barksdale."

A bitter laugh from the other end of the phone. "I was expecting your call."

"I salute your psychic powers. Now, what did you mean by 'There is no more Faith?'"

"Just what it sounds like. I went in today and hypnotized Daria and excised the Faith personality myself. You and the ADA will never need to worry about her again."

"But I thought you were opposed --"

Dr. Vaughn said, "I did. I still am. I think it was a heinous thing to so much as suggest. But since you and the ADA were hellbound and determined to get rid of her, I figured I may as well do it myself and save you the heartache."

Amy said, "I don't get it."

"This way, Daria hates me. She thinks it was my idea. And it's okay if she hates me. I'm a psychiatrist and she never has to see me again. But you're her family. The closest relative she has left. And I wasn't going to let her hate you."

""I'm surprised," Amy said, "That you'd want to spare my feelings."

Another laugh from the other end of the phone. "I don't give a good goddamn about your feelings, Ms. Barksdale. But Faith -- excuse me, _Daria's _-- those feelings I care about. And finding out her closest relative had betrayed her would have made her absolutely miserable. And since you wouldn't let me save Faith, I was at least going to save Daria. Now, if you'll excuse me? I'm in the middle of getting drunk right now and I don't appreciate being interrupted." And, abruptly, she hung up.

Amy put her cell phone down and tried to process what she'd just been told.

She kept driving towards the jail.

X X X X X

Daria's aunt visited her late that afternoon -- Daria explained what Dr. Vaughn had done, and Aunt Amy had sympathized, but said, "That was the condition the ADA set for getting you out of jail. I hate that it happened this way, but at least now I'll be able to get you out of here faster. All I'll need to do is have a couple of other psychiatrists look you over to be sure, and --"

"Whatever," Daria had said. "Make the arrangements."

They'd chatted for a bit longer -- Aunt Rita was also in town and would drop by tomorrow -- but that was really the only important part.

She didn't fall asleep until well into the night.

And she had a special dream, finding herself back in Faith's apartment.

"Well," she said to no one in particular. "I guess that answers that question. I can even be alone and have these dreams."

"Well now," a voice came from behind her. "I wouldn't say that."

Daria spun around and saw a girl she didn't recognize. "And you would be?"

"Oh, goodness gracious me," the girl said with mock servility. "Where are my manners?" She reached out a hand as if to invite Daria to shake it. "I'm Buffy. And you are?"


	22. Chapter 22

Author's note: Kitty Genovese is real. Look up the details if you want to be horrified.

Disclaimer: Buffy's Joss's. Daria's Glenn's. Dr. Vaughn's Mediancat's.

X X X X X

Daria said, "Now, I _know_ you're not another split personality." After a second, "Are you?"

Buffy grinned. "Naaah. I'm not even the real Buffy Summers."

"You're not?"

"Nope. I'm just an echo. I mean, I guess I kind of think act like the real Buffy Summers, but I'm not really her. Just the impression Faith had of her, maybe mixed in with a bit of the real Buffy, from back when Faith and I switched bodies." A pause, then "She _did_ tell you about that, right?"

"Briefly," Daria said. "I wasn't so sure I believed her."

Buffy nodded approvingly. "Smart woman. Always a good idea to take anything Faith said with a grain of salt. Or a whole bucket's worth. In this case, though, she was telling you the truth."

"So what are you doing in my head?" Daria asked.

Chuckling briefly, Buffy said, "Slayer dreams are funny things. Sometimes they're of earth-shattering importance. And when I say earth-shattering, I mean that literally. Others can be for much lesser reasons."

"Well, if this is for a 'lesser reason,' I'd just as soon go back to sleep. I'm still kind of pissed off that Faith isn't here any more."

"Faith no more," Buffy said, interrupting. "Get it?" Daria just glared at her. "Right. You're pissed. I'll have to remember that."

"Please do," Daria said irritably.

"Anyway, this one is kind of important. Since Faith isn't around to do it anymore, I'm taking on the task of training you."

"Let me get this straight. A fragment . . . of a person . . . who isn't actually here . . . is going to train me do something . . . that I'm not complete sure I believe in. The ways of the Vampire Slayer." Buffy nodded. "Congratulations," Daria said. "Just when I start thinking this situation couldn't possibly get more surreal, a clog-dancing ninja hands me a herring."

"Clog-dancing ninja, at your service," Buffy said. "So. Ready to get started?"

"I'm guessing that if I say no your answer is going to be something on the order of, 'tough'?"

"More or less," Buffy admitted.

"Then, one question before you start wiping the floor with me," Daria said. "Did Faith deliberately leave you here, or are you just kind of left over from when "from Daria's mind Faith was untimely ripp'd?"

"Faith knew that this echo of me was still in here," Buffy said. "Though she might not have thought the 'in here' part was quite so literal. Anyway, she's moved and left no forwarding address, so that sticks you with me." Apparently Daria seemed less than wildly enthusiastic -- though, honestly, she was rarely so much as _mildly_ enthusiastic -- because Buffy said, "Look. I know you're ticked she's not here. Under the circumstances, I would be too. But least _I'm_ here to help you through this. So channel that rage you're feeling towards whoever took Faith away, and show me what you've got."

Daria had thought _Faith_ had been a tough opponent. She had nothing on Buffy. Despite using 'muscle memory' and her intelligence to help her fight, in the next ten subjective minutes or so, while they sparred, Daria hit Buffy exactly twice. Once, Daria stomped on her feet, and once, she caught a punch and used Buffy's momentum to throw her into a wall.

When Buffy called time, Daria said, "This is a lot different from Faith."

"Yeah, well," Buffy said, "No offense intended, but I've always been better at this than she is. Still, you've got some pretty good moves considering you've never had any formal training at all. Not as good as mine, of course, but then you've only known you were a Slayer for what? A couple of weeks?"

"At most," Daria said, a little annoyed by Buffy's superior attitude. "And I'd appreciate it if you'd show a little more respect for the dead."

"Faith's not dead," Buffy said.

"She's not?" Daria said, startled.

"Nope. To be dead, you have to have been alive in the first place."

"She _was_," Daria said. "I'm not saying I'm thrilled with everything she did with my body, but she was _alive_ as much as I am. And more, I should point out, than you are."

Laughing, Buffy said, "True enough. But she's not here right now, is she?"

"She should be," Daria said.

"Deal with what is, not what should be," Buffy said, "Faith's gone. Kaput. And there's not a damn thing you can do about it."

Though angry at Buffy's cavalier attitude, Daria smiled. "Sure there is. I can refuse to play their game. Your game, either."

Buffy said contemptuously, "And how are you planning to do that?"

"Simple," Daria said. "It ain't like I can do Faith's voice perfect, but I got her attitude nailed. And I've been doin' a good enough imitation that I've managed to fake out damn near everyone except Doc Vaughn. And it ain't exactly like I'm plannin' on seeing her again anytime soon."

"So your plan is to make them thing Dr. Vaughn is either lying or mistaken?"

"Yup," Daria said, still using Faith's voice.

"And you don't think they'll take Dr. Vaughn's word over yours?"

Daria shrugged. "Sure, they're more likely to believe her. But seein' what they think of Faith in the first place it ain't likely they're gonna wanna take the risk."

"You _do_ realize," Buffy said, "That this is likely to keep you in jail for the next 25 years?"

Resuming her own voice, Daria said, "Yes. And it's not like I want to do that. But as it's the only weapon I have, I may as well make use of it."

Buffy shook her head and laughed in disbelief. "You're willing to do serious jail time to save Faith's personality? A convicted murderer who used your body to sleep with more men than every hooker in Vegas put together?"

"If necessary."

Buffy shrugged. "Your loss. You might want to reconsider taking me up on my offer, though. You can refuse to play the shrink's games all you want. Vampires are a different story. Most of the time with them you don't have a choice."

"Sure you do. You can act like everyone else does in this society and run in the other direction. If I'm attacked, I'll fight back. Beyond that?" Daria said. "I didn't sign up for it --"

"No one signs up for it," Buffy said. "You think there's some sheet out there with, 'Long hours, no pay, life-threatening work, inquire within'?"

Daria nodded, "You're right, but that's not relevant. I'm not even the one who got drafted. That was _Faith_. And as you so elegantly put it, Faith's kaput. So I'm not a soldier in this eternal struggle you seem so keen to make me a part of. I'm a draft dodger."

"You could do that?" Buffy asked.

"Watch me. Give me one good reason I shouldn't."

With conviction, Buffy said, "Because it's wrong."

Daria said, "I'm not arguing with that. I'm not even saying my conscience wouldn't bother me. But until you start laying off the attitude, and until they bring her back here and find some other solution to this problem, I'm not going to do what any of you want me to do."

Buffy said evenly, "If I 'lay off the attitude,' will you at least let me train you? And will you help other people?"

"Considering you're kind of trapped in here, that's all I can ask of you. Just remember: _Faith's_ the vampire slayer. This training, this muscle memory, I'll do it to keep myself alive. If I get out of here, and someone needs my help, I'll probably even help them. I'm _not_ like everyone else. I wouldn't have shut my ears while Kitty Genovese screamed."

"Kitty who?" Buffy asked.

"From before we were born," Daria explained. "Kitty Genovese was raped and murdered by an apartment in New York City. Over twenty people heard her screams for help and not a single one of them lifted a finger to help her. Never mind that none of them rushed down to help her. None of them even called the police. All because they 'didn't want to get involved.' It's infamous." Throughout this, Daria's voice had gotten more and more angry. "And I'm not like that. I may not think very highly of other people. I may joke about them, insult them, let them get humiliated, embarrassed, in trouble. I couldn't let them get killed. Or even badly injured. There are too damn many Kitty Genoveses in the world."

"So when you said you'd look the other way, you were bluffing?"

"Of _course_ I was bluffing," Daria said. "It worked, though. Assuming you're the kind of person who keeps her word."

"I am," Buffy said.

"Good. Then I'll keep mine. You can train me. Just remember, I'm not the one with years of experience who knows how to do this on instinct. You saw it yourself. Even with Faith's instinctive abilities and my own intelligence I hit you twice -- and once was when I stepped on your feet."

"Don't knock foot-stomping," Buffy said. "A well-placed blow to the instep can cause as much pain as a kick to the groin if you do it right."

"Good to know. Still. While I'm still having these 'Slayer dreams,' I seem bereft of the instinct that you and Faith seem to possess. She mentioned that Slayers seem to have some kind of innate abilities to do all of these things -- and, apart from the strength, which seems tied to my physical body, the only time I'm able to do any of this is when I'm channeling Faith."

"If I was the real Buffy, I'd ask Giles to research this," Buffy said. "'cause you could be right. I've never been big on the theory of vampire slaying, but it's possible that since Faith's personality was dominant when she was called to be a Slayer that she's the one who got all the instincts and all you got was the strength and the ability to dream. Still, that doesn't mean training won't help you."

"Doesn't mean it will, either," Daria said. "But I'll give it a try."

"Okay," Buffy said. "What's your first instinct when someone's trying to attack you?"

"To run," Daria said.

Buffy nodded. "Good instincts," she said. "If you're facing off against someone who's bigger and stronger than you, running can be your best bet. You know what the first rule of being a Vampire Slayer is?"

"Make sure the stake you're using is wood and not plastic?"

Chuckling, Buffy said, "No, but that's not a bad rule two. The first rule is, don't die."

"Also good," Daria said.

"One thing I want you to try to do for me," Buffy said. "I want you to try to _not_ use Faith's instincts. I want you to just use your own."

"Ah. So we've reached the 'beat Daria into a coma' portion of the evening."

"We won't be sparring. I just want to see how you throw a punch." Consciously trying to channel only what she'd learned from her self-defense course, she threw the best punch she could.

"Passable," Buffy said. "I'm guessing you've had some martial arts training in the past?"

"A bare minimum," Daria said. "An eight-week women's self-defense course. They tended to concentrate on fighting off muggers and rapists. They were sadly deficient in 'how to fend off supernatural creatures."

"A common failing," Buffy said. "Anyway. Here's what you need to improve with the punch . . ." And they spent the next couple of (subjective) hours practicing how to punch someone or something. While Buffy pronounced herself satisfied with Daria's basic ability to hit someone, she did say, "I think you're right. You're not showing any instinct for fighting. Now let me see you channel Faith."

Daria closed her eyes and tried to rely on her muscle memory. Then she threw six punches, three with each hand.

"Yeah," Buffy said. "I can definitely see a difference. On your own, you're about a C+. You could probably improve to maybe a B level. With the Slayer strength, that'd be good enough to fight off most garden-variety vampires and demons. But there's a whole lot else out there."

"So maybe I'd be better off just channeling Faith," Daria said. Sometime during the course of this dream, she realized something: She now believed Faith. About the vampires, the supernatural, all of it.

She just wished she could have told her that to her face. Or whatever metaphor was appropriate for talking things over with one's own split personality.

"No," Buffy said. "It took you a good fifteen seconds to reach the point where you could do that. Fine if you have lead time, but you don't always have lead time."

"So I'm going to need to keep up these exercises."

"Yup. Let's check out your raw strength level next." They did this by simply arm wrestling. It turned out that Daria's strength indeed matched Buffy's own.

"Assuming," Daria said, "That we can trust the dreamworld and relative strength rankings. And assuming you're actually Buffy's echo." After a second. "And does that mean that the real Buffy has an echo of Faith in her somewhere?"

"I wouldn't bring that up if you ever actually talk to her," Buffy said. "She might kill you." After a second, "Are you still planning to pretend to be Faith once the dream's done?"

"Do you have a better idea?" Daria asked.

"I might. I understand why you want to do something. But do you really think that ADA who said Faith had to disappear for you to get out of jail is going to _change her mind_ because you're 'refusing to play her game'? Or do you think she'll shrug her shoulders, say, 'I did what I could," and let you rot in here for the next 25 years? Either way you won't get Faith back, only this way you won't be free."

"And your better idea is?"

"Play their game long enough for you to get out. Then -- well, what Dr. Vaughn took away, she can probably give back. Or, failing that, there's always magic."

"Or there's another way," Daria said. "I could try to trigger it myself."

"How?" Buffy asked.

"There's this book I've been reading . . . "


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: The _Daria_ characters belong to Glenn Eichler. The _Buffy_ and _Angel_ characters belong to Joss Whedon. The original characters and the plot belong to me.

X X X X X

"It might not be a good idea to do that," Buffy said.

"Why?" Daria asked.

"Because you have no idea what would happen. It'd be like tossing an unknown liquid onto a fire to see whether it was water or gasoline."

"And your solution is for me to beat it out of Dr. Vaughn?"

"If you have to."

"Sorry, Dr. Vaughn," Daria said, "I know I've just broken two of your fingers and bruised a kidney, but I completely trust you not to take any sort of revenge while you have me under hypnosis."

"Good point," Buffy conceded. "And magic?"

"I've barely been able to bring myself to accept, on -- faith -- that vampires and werewolves and things like that exist. I'm not quite ready to concede magic spells."

"It's a logical progression," Buffy said.

"No, it's not," Daria said. "I can accept that giant squids exist without conceding the Loch Ness monster. I can accept that something funky went down with the Kennedy assassination without believing that Clay Shaw had anything to do with it. And I can accept the existence of vampires without conceding that people can twitch their noses and make magic happen. Anyway, right now it doesn't matter. Even if I bought the idea, I wouldn't rely on it. Once again, it's been conclusively proven that there's no one I can rely on except me. Therefore, if I want this fixed, I'm going to have to do it myself."

And before Buffy could get out more than, "Wait, there's --" Daria pinched herself and woke up.

X X X X X

By the lack of natural light coming in through the small cell window, Daria figured out that she'd woken herself up earlier than she should have.

Still, she'd gotten tired of listening to Buffy's echo complain about her ideas, Faith, and pretty much everything else.

If that was anything like the real Buffy Summers, Daria was fairly sure she'd hate the woman on sight. Still, Faith's feelings for Buffy had changed from hatred to a fierce admiration, so the woman must have something going for her besides combat skills.

Of course, she had no idea exactly what time of night it was. it wasn't like there were any clocks lying around, and while Daria could guess the approximate time of night if she was able to see the moon, the approximately 1/2 degree of arc of the night sky visible through her tiny window did not in fact happen to have the moon visible. Or even enough stars to figure out constellations.

She got out of bed, and, praying no guards would wander by, swiftly used the toilet.

_April 10, 1997 _was sitting on the floor where she'd left it.

If she lay down on the bed with her head toward the cell door, there was just enough light coming in through it that she'd be able to read it.

So, was she ready for this?

The answer was no, and would probably be no even after she'd read it.

But if she wanted to bring Faith back on her own terms, she had to try.

Quietly, Daria picked up the book and flipped through to the chapter titled "The Night of April 10."

It struck her that this was, in fact, the morning of April 10.

Four years ago on this day Faith Lehane had been born.

Today she would be born again.

X X X X X

Amy Barksdale had had a lousy night's sleep. Part of her was glad she'd get Daria out soon; part of her was guilty at the machinations she'd used to get Daria out of jail; part of her felt even worse that Dr. Vaughn had taken the hit for her; and part of her was simply trying to figure out what to do next.

Take all of that, add in a sister whose conscience isn't disturbed by any of it, and stir well, and what you have is a recipe for tossing and turning all night.

About 6:30 AM, Amy gave up on trying to sleep -- maybe having snatched two hours here and there -- called room service, and went in to take a nice long shower. Her conscience wasn't any clearer when she got out, but at least she felt more awake.

The pot of coffee coming up on the room service tray should do even more to help that. There were no cheese fries available at breakfast, so she settled for hash browns and a cheese omelet.

While she ate and drank, she thought, putting the complimentary _LA Times _to the side until she was done.

She hadn't quite been able to bring herself to tell Daria the truth yesterday; that she'd been ready to get rid of Faith herself. Daria wasn't stupid, though, and no doubt by now she'd figured out on her own that Amy would have done that if she'd had to.

Amy could beat herself up for that in her own good time, and no doubt over the next several years she would. At the moment, though, what to do next was the most important thing.

Rita had been all for simply tossing Daria into a mental institution until they could be good and sure that Faith was gone. Rita wasn't being heartless, by her standards; she wanted Daria back and free as much as Amy did. But her methods were decidedly more brutal.

Fortunately for Daria, Rita wasn't the one who was acting as _guardian ad litem_.

And Amy was fine with letting Daria stay in jail until other psychiatrists could verify Faith's absence -- check that. She wasn't _fine_ with it, but it still beat the alternative, which was a long, depressing stay in a mental institution. One of the articles she'd written had been about the abuses that took place at such institutions -- the ones specifically designed for higher-income people, people whose relatives might be conditioned to expect a higher standard of care. Not that they were all abusive; some were still staffed with people who wanted to help their patients, and some were "mental hospitals" in name only, designed specifically for celebrities who needed some "quiet time" to live down their latest scandal.

Amy didn't have the income to put Daria in one of those -- she was well off, not rich -- and in any event she was fairly sure the DA's office wouldn't stand for that.

As Daria's official guardian, she could visit her in jail at any time. After she talked to Rita this morning, she planned to go over and explain the current situation to her in a bit more depth. With any luck, Daria would have calmed down from the events of yesterday --

And if she hadn't, Amy needed to explain things anyway.

After finishing her second cup of coffee, Amy put the breakfast tray aside and opened the paper.

The headline she'd feared was below the fold, but it was still a page one story: "Missing Girl Found in LA County Jail."

Shit, meet fan.

X X X X X

Angel had gotten a couple of phone calls the previous day. The first one had been from Dr. Vaughn, explaining exactly what she'd done to Daria/Faith. That had left him stunned. So stunned he'd barely had the presence of mind to pick up the phone when it rang again five minutes later.

"Angel Investigations."

"Mr. Angel?"

"Just Angel," he'd said. "How can I help you?"

"You gave me this business card earlier today. Kal Endicott? _LA Times_? You told me to call you if I had any questions about the Faith Lehane situation?"

"That's right. I take it that Ms. Fisk and Amy Barksdale were less than cooperative?"

"Total time of them talking to me, under a minute. I guess I should be lucky they didn't tell me to go to hell, seeing what the story is. You got time to talk?"

"Sure," Angel had said. "What do you need to know?"

And for the next half hour or so, Angel had given Mr. Endicott the story of Faith, _sans_ vampires. He'd made clear to the man that he was not a neutral source; that he was biased on Faith's behalf.

"Which means that, unlike the DA's office, you don't want to see her personality removed."

"That's right."

"Even though," the young reporter had said, "That personality is responsible for two murders?"

"She turned herself in," Angel had said. "She confessed to those crimes in open court, and she didn't even try to get a sentence reduction. As far as I know, the only concession she asked for was a jail cell all to herself. She may have come to it a bit late, but she knows what she did was wrong and she's trying to make up for it."

"But isn't keeping her around unfair to Ms. Morgendorffer?"

"You'd have to ask Ms. Morgendorffer her opinion on that. For what it's worth, I think Ms. Morgendorffer is the biggest victim in all of this."

"Bigger than the two people Faith Lehane killed?"

"As big, at least," Angel had amended. "You have to remember: For almost four years Daria Morgendorffer was effectively dead."

They'd talked for a bit longer and Angel reiterated everything he'd said. Eventually, the conversation had ended, and Angel was fairly sure he'd made the best case for Faith he could.

The next morning, he called Cordelia and asked her if she could bring in a copy of that morning's _LA Times_.

"So, I'm your servant now?" Cordelia griped, apparently on autopilot.

"Well, I'd get it myself, but the catching on fire would probably impede my ability to put the quarters into the newspaper box."

Cordelia said, "Good point," and brought it in.

When she got to the Hyperion, she said, "Did you know there was a story about Faith in here?"

"That's why I asked you to bring in the paper," Angel said. "What did it say?"

"Missing Girl Found in LA County Jail."

"What about the story itself?"

"It seemed fairly neutral to me," Cordelia said. "Didn't mention that Faith was a multiple murderer until the fourth paragraph." She stopped. "Which is about a paragraph later than I would have put it."

Angel grabbed the paper, saying, "I appreciate the journalistic critique, Lois, but I'm more interested in seeing whether all hell is about to break loose."

"Oh, I'd say so," Cordelia said. "They were already talking about it on the radio this morning."

"What was the tone of the discussion?"

"No tone. More amazement than anything else. Apparently this Vaughn woman -- Faith's shrink -- has a reputation for being hard on prisoners, so that she's backing Faith's story seems to be making them think about it."

"That's good," Angel said. "I was afraid the initial reaction was going to be all about how the DA's office was about to let a murderer out of jail."

"Whether it's an angry mob of victim's rights advocates or reporters desperately interested in a story," Cordelia said, "I'd say hell is pretty much guaranteed. And honestly? Having seen a group of desperate reporters at work? I think I'd rather face actual hell. And this comes from someone who's _faced _actual hell."

"I wonder if Daria would appreciate our support," Angel mused.

"And why the hell are you calling her Daria instead of Faith?"

"Right. I didn't fill you in on that part, did I?"

X X X X X

Bonita Juarez saw the _Times_ article on Faith Lehane and made a point of instructing the security guards: no reporters were to get inside the building. They weren't to be buzzed through to her office, they weren't to talk to Lehane in the visitors' room, and they weren't to get any information from the guards themselves. And if one of them was clever or desperate enough to get herself thrown in jail to get the interview, more power to her, and they'd take away all her notes when she got released.

Then she called her husband and told him to keep an eye out when he got home on the off chance any reporters decided to stalk her there. She was a bit player in all of this, but this had the potential to a big enough story that reporters would probably be tracking down anyone even remotely connected to the situation.

After she hung up, she got to work on the routine business of the day and busied herself with it for about an hour.

Then she got an anxious call from one of the guards. "Boss?" she said.

"Yeah, Josie?"

"I'm in front of Lehane's cell. You'd better call that psych doctor."

"Why?"

"Because she's down here ranting. We couldn't even get her to come out for breakfast."

Bonita's guards were well-trained and professional, and while they didn't abuse inmates -- any guard who did quickly found him or herself out on their ass -- they didn't take crap from them either. For one of them to say that they 'couldn't get' an inmate to come out of their cell meant that they were either afraid for their safety or deeply worried about the inmate.

"What's she saying?"

"She's saying, 'Goddammit, why didn't it work? Why am I still her?' Then she repeats herself and punches the wall."

"And that's enough to keep you out of the cell?"

"The wall has cracks in it."

"I'll be right down." Bonita wasn't a psychiatrist, psychologist, or any kind of counselor. But she'd just been thrust back into the middle of the Faith Lehane situation, because she was the only person who might be able to stop Lehane from ruining her chances of getting out of prison.

She left a message on Dr. Vaughn's machine and ran out the door.


	24. Chapter 24

Author's Note: You are, of course, not getting the whole of "The Night of April 10." Merely those excerpts that prompt some thought, some reaction, in Daria. The breaks will be set off by ellipses.

Disclaimer: Daria and her family are the creations of Glenn Eichler. Faith is the creation of Joss Whedon. Willard Jay Harbaugh and the story were created by me.

X X X X X

Earlier:

**Chapter XXIV**

_**The Night of April 10**_

We know that Willard Jay Harbaugh woke up in Highland's King's Court Motel from his own account and later eyewitness testimony, but what he did between the time he woke up and 8:45 PM that evening -- the time neighbors remember hearing thumps from the direction of the Morgendorffer house -- remains a mystery. He could have spent the time oiling his gun, or he could have played miniature golf. It's ultimately irrelevant.

The only important detail to be gained from an account of Harbaugh's April 10 would be what led him to choose my sister and her family as his next victims. He himself has always claimed that, once he picked out a neighborhood, the actual home he hit was random chance. He could have hardly chosen a home with less readily available to steal if he'd tried. Most of the valuables were packed up, leaving out only a few necklaces Helen wore to work, a few miscellaneous necessary items, and the larger furniture, which Harbaugh can hardly expect to have been able to carry off anyway.

(In his frustration, he apparently threw my sister's law books -- one shelf of which contained the only unpacked books in the house outside of Daria's room -- onto the floor of Helen and Jake's bedroom. Why he took his anger out there rather than elsewhere in the house is a minor mystery.)

They say you can't put a monetary value on human life. In this case, the lives of Helen, Jake and Quinn Morgendorffer were worth four necklaces, two wedding rings, and $450 in cash.

Mary and Duke Crockett -- the couple who lived two doors down from my sister -- remember the thumps. They swore later that they thought "it was just one of the girls, caught outside without her key." They felt horribly guilty that they didn't call the police, but it's hard to blame them, and I don't. Distant thumps may be vaguely suspicious, but if people called the police any time they heard distant thumps the police departments of the country would be overwhelmed. The police and I reassured them repeatedly that they had nothing to feel guilty about.

Why they didn't hear the gunshots was simple: They'd put in their video of _The Godfather_.

Harbaugh's account of the crime is disjointed and contradicts itself, fitting his failed attempts to paint himself as legally insane.

Fortunately, Harbaugh's own account isn't nearly all we have to go on. We also have the forensic evidence.

So the best reconstruction of what happened once Harbaugh kicked down the front door is this:

X X X X X

Daria stopped for a second. So far, this hadn't triggered anything other than sadness and anger. No memories came flooding back and she had no urges to begin talking in a thick Boston accent or to begin dropping the ends of her "ing" words.

Carefully, she listened to what was happening outside the cell door. She didn't hear anything --

Wait. She could. Somewhere in the distance, off to her left, she could hear two of the other inmates. Were they fighting or --

No. Definitely not fighting. Blushing slightly, Daria did her best to tune out the distant noises.

She couldn't remember her hearing ever being this good. Faith had said that her eyesight had improved when she became a Slayer, though not to the 20/15 it seemed to be now. Apparently her hearing had improved as well.

She hoped like hell what was happening in that distant cell was genuinely consensual, and was fervently grateful to whoever had arranged that Faith got a cell to herself.

Anyway, the important thing she'd figured out from her super-hearing was that there were no guards about to wander by. She had no idea whether she'd get in trouble for lying on her bunk and reading, but had no desire whatsoever to find out.

Daria concentrated. Nothing. No flashes, no recovered memories.

She was going to have to read further.

X X X X X

. . . but forensics and blood spatter shows that Harbaugh shot my brother-in law when he was on the couch, rather than shooting him while he was lying on the floor, as he stated, and then propping him up. He may have moved him slightly, but that's about it.

Why Harbaugh lied on such an easily verifiable matter is open to speculation. My best guess is that he felt claiming to have propped up the body would make his claims of insanity seem more accurate.

Whether Quinn could see what had happened from her position on the floor is unknown, but I hope like hell she didn't. Harbaugh claims he told Helen and Quinn to lie face down on the floor while he "took care of the old man."

All indications are that Quinn Morgendorffer died within minutes of her father's death anyway. She was killed where she was found, lying on the dining room floor. The blood spatter and other forensic evidence indicate that my sister was lying right next to her when that happened.

I can't possibly imagine what that felt like for Helen. I don't _want_ to imagine what it was like for Quinn. As for what it was like for Willard Harbaugh, he informed us in detail at the trial of the glee he felt in shooting out the back of my niece's skull. I am not going to be repeating that here.

If you actually have an interest in those details, and you are not either studying criminal psychology or forensics, then you are a twisted human being and -- on the chance you like this book -- I do not want you writing to me. In fact, once you're done with the book, I want you to sell it or give it away, because I'd just as soon not be informed of your existence.

The one crumb of "good" to be gotten from all of this -- and it's a small, dubious, almost worthless crumb -- is that Jake and Quinn Morgendorffer both died very quickly. This is the same "blessing" Harbaugh extended to all of his victims. If one is a relative of any of the thirteen dead in Harbaugh's rampage, one must be grateful that Harbaugh's desire to prove his "insanity" didn't extend to the use of physical torture.

Mental torture is a different matter altogether. Kendall Severance and Everett Odom told tales of horror about how Willard Harbaugh killed their families in front of them, and chose to let them live only through some childish game.

Kendall Severance lived while her son was shot in front of her after Harbaugh flipped a coin to determine whether she or her son would live.

Everett Odom watched his mother and father get killed after Harbaugh did, of all things, "Eenie-meenie-miny-mo."

Willard Harbaugh says he never encountered my niece Daria; didn't kill her, didn't kidnap her, didn't make her watch him shoot my sister, brother-in-law, and Quinn.

That he didn't kidnap her has been well-documented. The witness who saw her board that bus to Nashville was unimpeachable.

The former, I'm not so sure of. There is no concrete evidence that they were in the house at the same time. Blood-soaked clothes she was wearing were found in the house, and bootprints in the pool of blood surrounding Quinn testify to that.

But it's still possible. And it might explain why Daria disappeared. Kendall Severance and Everett Odom still suffer from severe post-traumatic stress disorder to this day. Even though they consciously realize that there was nothing they could have done, survivor guilt still overwhelms them both.

Almost certainly, as Harbaugh intended. It is a testament to their mental strength that they were able to give as a good a description of Harbaugh as they did.

One can only wonder what method Harbaugh might have used with my niece. Odds and evens? Drawing straws? Rock, paper, scissors?

X X X X X

"Rock beats scissors," Daria said to herself.

Wait a minute. Where did that come from?

A flash of memory came back to her:

She was holding out a closed fist. Her mother was holding out the sign for "scissors."

A voice with a thick Boston accent said "Rock beats scissors."

And then --

And then --

Nothing.

But that was a memory.

And it explained where Faith had gotten her accent from.

It infuriated her. It upset her. It made her want to cry, punch her fist into the wall, or both.

It did _not_ change her into Faith.

Dammit.

Dammit on both counts.

She kept reading.

X X X X X

. . . Daria could not have entered the house before 9:30 PM, unless she'd run the whole way. And my niece, while not out of shape, was not overly given to exercise. It would have been about a fifteen-minute walk.

Harbaugh said he killed Helen Morgendorffer and left the residence by 9:25.

I truly hope, in this instance, that he's telling the truth.

If he's not -- if Daria had to go through what Kendall Severance and Everett Odom did -- if she had to watch, hear, feel, smell her mother's head being blown off -- if she had to suffer that, suffer Harbaugh's gloating, his petty attempts to seem crazy to get away with multiple murders and a spree of what was, in the end, comparatively petty thievery -- then it's no wonder she fled. There are very few people on Earth who can imagine what that was like.

Kendall Severance and Everett Odom, unfortunately, don't need to imagine. I have already detailed what their lives are like; the pain they go through daily, the jumping at shadows. And all of this despite their concrete knowledge that they did nothing wrong. Proof positive that, no matter how intelligent and intellectual we may be, that there is a core to us that does not behave rationally.

It is times like these I wish I believed in an afterlife, so I could be assured that Harbaugh's actions on Earth would lead to an eternity of punishment in hell. Unfortunately, I don't, and I can't whistle up the belief on a moment's notice just to make myself feel better.

X X X X X

Neither could Daria -- although she understood what her aunt meant by "core."

In her, that core was named "Faith."

Faith was the expression of the raw emotions, the almost childlike, raging emotions, buried deep within her subconscious.

An incident like this would have brought out the rage buried inside Gandhi.

What it was not bringing out was any more memories.

She concentrated.

"It's okay, sweetie."

Her mother had said that to her right after rock, paper, scissors. And right before she'd been killed.

Daria couldn't remember the gunshot. Couldn't remember Dad's body on the sofa, or Quinn's sprawled out on the dining room floor. Couldn't remember coming into the house; hell, she couldn't even remember the damn Shakespeare dramatic reading assignment she'd supposedly gotten that day.

But, wildly, she remembered how her leather jacket didn't get any blood on it.

Even after all of this, Faith wasn't back.

Anger, depression, sadness, all blossoming, roiling, within her.

No Faith.

She read on.

X X X X X

. . . and now the story diverges again.

The path my niece Daria took is unknown. The grainy image on the security tapes at the Highland bus station are the last time anyone has proof that she was alive.

She was on the bus by 11 PM that night.

From Nashville, she could have gone to half a hundred other cities, by plane, train, or bus. There are only three things we're sure of:

She did not remain in Highland.

She did not travel to Lawndale, Maryland.

And she didn't stay in Nashville. Thorough police searches in all three locations prove that.

The police's idea as to why Daria boarded the bus to Nashville makes sense to me -- it was the first bus to leave the Highland bus station after she got there. Ten minutes earlier and she would have been headed for El Paso. Eight minutes later, New Orleans.

But she did go somewhere.

She's still alive. I'm sure of it.

As for Willard Harbaugh . . .

X X X X X

And the rest of the chapter dealt with the immediate aftermath for Willard Harbaugh, none of which triggered anything in Daria at all.

Why the _hell_ hadn't it worked? Where was Faith?

It was light outside and the other inmates were starting to wake up.

Reading the chapter had triggered more than a few scattered memories. It had triggered emotions -- emotions she very rarely gave full voice to. Emotions she couldn't control. Usually, when Daria was angry, worried, or upset, it came out in whispers. Hints.

Not now.

She got out of the bed and threw the book against the wall and screamed a wordless scream of pure fury.

"Goddammit!" She yelled. "Why didn't it work? Why am I still her?"

She slammed her fist into the wall.

If anything, this made her anger worse.

She repeated herself and struck the wall again.

She never knew she had such rage in her.


	25. Chapter 25

Author's note: Did y'all catch the paraphrase from the Buffy episode _Enemies_ at the end of the last chapter? Strictly intentional, I assure you.

Also: Wow. Part 25. I really didn't think the fic would go this long. In any events, thanks to all the readers and reviewers who've managed to read this far. I have an ending in mind, but I', not quite sure how much longer it'll take to get there.

Disclaimer: Daria belongs to Glenn Eichler. Faith belongs to Joss Whedon. Lynette Vaughn and Bonita Juarez belong to me.

X X X X X

Lynette Vaughn came back from her morning jog. She didn't call out when she entered the house. Her husband was off shooting on location in Wyoming and the cat never came when she was called.

As she walked past the kitchen, she noticed a message on her answering machine. Checking the caller ID, she noticed that it was from Bonnie Juarez and had come in ten minutes ago.

She pressed play: "Lynette, get down here as soon as you can. Lehane's apparently ranting and raving in her cell -- she hasn't hurt anyone, or herself, but I'm really worried. My guards are afraid to go in the cell with her and you know my guards aren't wimps. I'm going down there now to see if I can calm her down."

Dammit. She'd never told Bonnie what had happened with Faith. She'd called Carla Fisk and Angel but somehow she'd overlooked telling Bonnie about it. So Bonnie didn't know that Lynette wouldn't be "Faith's" favorite person anymore.

Daria Morgendorffer, ranting, raving, and scaring the guards? Something was wrong here.

Could her hypnosis have gone awry?

It was possible.

What wasn't possible was that Daria had started ranting and raving on her own. That just wasn't in her personality. Daria had been in a towering fury when Lynette had told her she'd excised Faith, and all Daria had done then was tell her irritably to get away from her.

And unfortunately, whether Daria trusted her or not, Lynette was the only one who stood a chance.

She washed up quickly, changed her clothes, and ran out the door.

X X X X X

"Okay, stand back," Bonita told the guards as she came near Faith Lehane's cell. She could hear the young woman screaming from well down the cellblock. She didn't seem to be making any threats; hell, she didn't seem to be acknowledging anyone else's existence.

"I wouldn't get too close if I were you," the guard, Josie, said, walking towards her while two other guards kept an eye on Lehane. "She's still poundin' her fist into the wall. And, boss, either she's a member of the WWF in disguise or we gotta sue whoever built this place for usin' shitty material. 'cause she's almost ready to put a hole through the wall."

Speaking quietly, Bonita said, "Are there any other prisoners still in the cellblock?"

"Most of them are either workin' or in class," Josie said. "We got a few who've got free time."

"Get them out of here. Put them in the main yard," Bonita said. Let the inmates think that something fishy was about to go down; she didn't care. She just wanted to keep the knowledge of Faith's split personality away from the main prison population.

"I'm going to walk over to Lehane's cell with you," she continued. "When I get there, motion Henley and Dominguez to come with you. Then have Dominguez and Henley get the other prisoners out of the area. You go to the armory and get the tranq gun and get back here. Just stay out of sight of the cell. Also -- who's on duty at the main entrance today?"

Josie, who was head of this guard shift, knew the answer off the top of her head, as Bonita had expected. "Villanueva and Sheldon."

"Dr. Vaughn should be coming. When she does, have one of them bring her back here as fast as they can.

"But --"

"Lehane's behaved herself since she got here," Bonita said. "I doubt she's going to hurt me, and if she tries, I don't care how much fucking damage she's doing with those fists, it's gonna take her a while to get through her cell bars. If she does get threatening, I'll back off and you can nail her with the tranq."

Josie looked a bit doubtful about Bonita's plan, but bit off whatever protest she'd been planning on making. 'Yes, boss."

They walked up to the front of Lehane's cell. Josie gestured for Henley and Dominguez to follow her; they both looked at Bonita for confirmation. She nodded and they walked off.

Bonita turned and looked into the cell.

"Why didn't it work?" Faith said.

"Why didn't what work, Lehane?"

Faith looked up and growled. "I'd go away if I were you, warden. I'm not especially pleasant company right now." Her voice sounded a bit off -- and not just from the anger.

Bonita said, "Fuck that, Lehane. This is a prison, remember? I realize you've got special circumstances but in the end you don't get to tell me what to do. In fact, you don't even get to make suggestions. Now. I've sent the guards away, but I will have them tranq you if I don't get a good answer. So. I'll ask again. Why didn't what work, Lehane?"

"I'm not Lehane."

_That_ shocked the hell out of Bonita. "You're -- Daria?"

"Yes. I've been Daria for a couple of days now," she said, still growling. Where the hell was all of this rage coming from?

"And what didn't work?" Lehane -- no, _Daria­ _-- slammed her fist into the wall again. "Knock that off. You're actually starting to damage the wall." She knew Lehane was a lot stronger than she looked, but this was ridiculous. Some building inspectors were going to have to come in and check the place. She couldn't have the inmates thinking they could simply pound their way out of their cells.

"I'm having a hard time caring."

"You'll care if I have to stick you in solitary because your cell's too badly damaged to stay in," Bonita said.

She stopped her next punch in mid-flight, then snarled, "Good point. Is it okay if I stomp the floor?"

"Why do you have to do anything?" Bonita said as Daria slammed her foot down on the concrete floor of her cell.

"Because I have all of these emotions inside me and for some reason I can't deal with them. I need to let out my anger somehow. And I'll be _damned_ if I'm going to use it against another person."

"You've been raging like this for, what, two hours now?" Bonita said. "This isn't the usual fit of anger."

"No kidding," Daria spat. "You might be better off tranquilizing me. Use a heavy dosage. I might need it. Maybe when I wake up I'll have calmed down."

"I'd rather not unless I have no choice," Bonita said. "I know you're on your way out of here and I'm actually trying not to screw that up."

"I appreciate that," Daria growled again. "It might sound like I'm ready to rip your head off but I'm not." She let out a short, wordless scream of anger and pain. "God _damn_ it! I hate being like this," she said through gritted teeth. Because I'm not. I don't _vent ---_" on the word vent, Daria stamped her foot onto the floor again --"Like this. And I can't control it. It's why I stopped the guards from coming into my cell. Faith had these emotions. And she killed people with them. I will. Not. Do that."

"I've got Dr. Vaughn coming down --" Bonita was interrupted when Daria stomped on the floor again, twice as hard as she had before.

"This is all her fault," Daria said. "If she hadn't done what she did --"

Puzzled, Bonita asked, "What did she do?"

Daria let out a laugh that sounded more frightening than any of her growls had. "She's the one responsible for me being like this."

"What?" That sounded irresponsible and stupid -- two words she would never associate with Dr. Lynette Vaughn.

"She took Faith away!"

"She did?" Every word out of Daria's mouth made the situation more and more confusing. "That's not how it was supposed to happen."

Stomping her feet again, Daria said, "Again, no kidding."

"No," Bonita said, wishing like hell that Lynette had bothered to tell her what was going on. Inwardly, she laughed at herself for being something of a hypocrite. On the one hand, she was glad she was clear of the entire situation, because of the publicity. On the other hand, she wanted to be told all about it.

Bonita went on, "That's not what I meant. I meant that Dr. Vaughn was the only one who argued against it. ADA Fisk was for it and so was I. Dr. Vaughn was so firmly opposed to it she almost stormed out of the room."

"What about my aunt?" Daria asked.

Bonita knew the results of the hearing yesterday, so she know Daria's aunt had also been in favor of removing Faith's personality. But she didn't feel it was her business to tell Daria that. "I don't know," Bonita said evasively. "I left before she got there." Out of the corner of her eye, Bonita noticed Josie come back with the tranquilizer gun. She nodded to let Josie know to stop there. Josie was enough of a professional to know when the situation called for immediate action.

Daria was not a threat. Not a threat to anyone else, anyway. And she didn't sound suicidal, either -- and Bonita had, sadly, had to deal with several suicides during her journey through the penal systems of Texas and California.

By the normal standards of her job, no prisoner should be allowed to cause this much disruption. She should be telling Josie to come over and shoot Lehane/Morgendorffer so full of tranquilizers she wouldn't wake up for a month. But this wasn't a normal situation. And she really wanted to see Daria Morgendorffer be free of this place.

There was probably no other prisoner she would have gone through this much effort for.

"Okay," Daria said harshly. "Let's say I believe you." She obviously didn't. "Then why would Dr. Vaughn have erased Faith's personality?"

"I don't know," Bonita said. "You'd have to ask her. She's --"

A voice from about twenty feet away said, "She's here."

X X X X X

Daria, through her rage, was grateful to Warden Juarez for talking with her, for trying to keep her calm. It was probably the best job anyone really could have done under the circumstances.

That part of her that was still capable of being analytic had long ago realized that her reaction was far, far from normal. Even though she pitched emotional fits like this about once a year, she knew they didn't last hours.

Emotions vented. Things slowed down. Adrenaline ran out.

And two hours plus into this one and she was still ready to chew steel and spit out nails.

That part of her that was still analytical had figured it out: reading that chapter of her aunt's book had been incredibly stupid.

The flashes of memories she had had nothing to do with this. What Daria could recall of April 10, 1997, still added up to a total of maybe fifteen seconds scattered throughout a whole day.

But as she'd read through it, her emotions had begun boiling to the surface.

No, Faith hadn't come back.

But the emotions she'd been created to deal with had.

Faith could have channeled the anger, the pain, the anguish, the raw hurt.

But Faith wasn't here.

The part of her that wasn't analytical kept stomping on the floor and screaming.

There was one thing the two parts definitely agreed with each other on, though:

She _didn't_ want to talk to Dr. Vaughn.

Unfortunately, not dealing with Dr. Vaughn was impossible, unless Daria either suddenly developed the power of teleportation or somehow found a way to knock herself unconscious.

The warden had moved out of Daria's line of vision, about 20-25 feet down the hallway. They were speaking in whispers, quietly enough that under most normal circumstances they couldn't be heard.

But most people didn't have the physical skills of a vampire Slayer.

". . . have to talk to her alone."

"I can't let you do that," the warden said. "She's really angry with you."

"I'm not saying you need to let me into the cell," Dr. Vaughn said. "Just stand further away. Think of it as doctor-patient confidentiality if you have to."

The warden sounded dubious. "I'm worried about your safety," she said. She didn't need to be. Daria would _not_hurt another human being. But she understood why the warden was concerned. "And I seem to have gotten through to her a bit." She had. As much as she could, she'd managed to calm Daria down. But it wasn't enough.

Daria hadn't been kidding when she'd told the warden to have the guard shoot her with the tranquilizer rifle. As long as she was unconscious, she wouldn't be able to hurt anyone, even by accident -- and maybe these emotions, these emotions she was never meant to handle, would go away while she was asleep.

"I understand. But there's something I can help her with that no one else can. Remember, I hypnotized her." Daria growled incoherently and stomped her foot again. They were almost mechanical, these rages of hers. Like she was a machine that steam had to be let out of periodically or she'd explode.

"Okay, Lynette," the warden said. "I'll trust you. But we're staying in the cellblock and if things look like they're going bad, Josie will shoot first and ask questions later."

"Understood." Then she started to walk over towards Daria's cell door.

Daria took a quick step back before she got there. "You don't need to worry," Daria snapped. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm still ticked at you, but I'm more ticked at myself that it didn't work."

"What didn't work?"

And Daria explained what she'd done, leaving out the dream conversation with the Buffy-echo.

"Oh, _Daria_," Dr. Vaughn said. "I wish you hadn't done this."

"You left me no choice. I wanted Faith back and you'd taken her away."

Dr. Vaughn then said, "I need to show you something." Then she said a phrase that echoed one of Daria's own thoughts. "I never knew you had so much rage in you."

As Daria was thinking that this couldn't be a coincidence, she somehow knew what she needed to say next. "What can I say? I'm the world's best actor."

And Dr. Vaughn smiled and said, "Second best."

And Daria _remembered._


	26. Chapter 26

Author's note: A quick jaunt back to April 9, 2001 . . .

Disclaimer: _Daria, Buffy_ characters 'tain't mine. Dr. Vaughn and Bonita Juarez are.

X X X X X

Earlier:

Daria was startled to come back to herself on what appeared to be the same day -- at least, if Dr. Vaughn's clothes were any indication. There was a sheet of paper on the table in front of her in Faith's handwriting.

Frowning slightly, she said, "This is still April 9, right?"

"It is," Dr. Vaughn said.

"I'm confused, then."

"I understand why. I've been . . . talking with Faith for the last half hour or so. The clock on the wall put it just past 11:30. "There's no easy way to say this."

"Then say it the hard way," Daria said.

Dr. Vaughn took a deep breath. "Today, at 1:30, your aunt and ADA Fisk are going to court to have you declared mentally incompetent."

"What?" Daria said angrily. "Did you --"

"They're using my report," she said, "But I have nothing to do with it."

"Why would theydo that?"

"They're convinced it's for your own good. And they're convinced of this because the DA has agreed to let you out of jail . . ."

Daria caught on. "If Faith, the multiple murderer, doesn't come along for the ride." Dr. Vaughn nodded. "Let me see if I can figure out what's likely to happen next. They'll come in here today or tomorrow and explain this to me -- Mrs. Silber will no longer be my attorney, since as an officially licensed lunatic I won't be entitled to make my own decisions about hiring one -- and within a few days I'll be shuffled off to some mental institution to be poked, prodded, and drugged into oblivion until they're sure that Faith is no longer around to trouble them. Never mind that I promised her I'd make sure her personality didn't vanish; who cares about what a crazy person wants, right?"

"I wouldn't quite make them out to be the avatars of evil that you seem to think they are -- and I doubt your aunt is going to let them 'drug you to oblivion.' She seems to like your personality more or less the way it is. Beyond that, you seem to have it."

"I know they're not evil," Daria said. "I even understand their motives. I just wish someone gave a crap about what Faith and I want." When Dr. Vaughn cleared her throat, Daria said, "Present company excepted."

"That private investigator, Angel, seemed as upset as I am. I'd definitely say he's on your side."

"For all the good it does me," Daria said.

Dr. Vaughn said, "He argued loud and long about it at the meeting yesterday. And when Ms. Fisk and your aunt still decided to have you declared _non compis mentis_, he stormed out. It might not have helped you, but it's good to remember that there's someone else out there who sees it the way you do."

"I'll keep that in mind. So. Why did you tell me this?" Presuming that Dr. Vaughn was on her side -- and she'd given Daria no reason to doubt her so far, which meant that Daria was only mildly suspicious -- she knew the woman came down here for a reason.

"Read."

Daria looked down.

_Heya, Daria. The Doc and me, we've been hashing it out for about twenty minutes, trying to come up with a plan. I think hers works, but there's going to have to be some sacrifice on both our parts. Me, I'm going to need to go away for a while. You, you're going to need to agree to forget about this letter and conversation so no one else gets suspicious._

_Here's how it's going to work: The Doc's already switched around the phrase she uses to turn you into me. Faith Ellen Lehane ain't going to bring me out. Since I'm not going to be around for a while, she didn't need to bother changing the one to turn me back into you. She'll give you the details and a couple of new trigger phrases -- going by the theory here that you'll go along with all this. I wish it didn't have to be this way, DM, but it's the only thing I can think of short of busting out of here, and I'd be screwing with too many people if I tried that._

_(By the way -- the DM thing is my new nick for you. I kind of give a nickname to everyone. Hope it doesn't bug you.)_

_You have to forget all this cause we need your reaction to be real. The Doc's going to take all the heat for erasing me -- don't know how she's going to explain it away, but that ain't on me. I'm sure she'll come up with something. And you've got to be pissed, DM. You've got to be really, really pissed at the Doc and everyone else for taking me away from you. And, no offense, but while you got that Vulcan thing going and a good talent voices I don't think you can fake this kind of anger._

_Please go along with this. If you want to save me, it's the only thing we can do._

_Faith Ellen Lehane_

Daria looked up and said, "Yes."

Dr. Vaughn seemed a bit startled by the suddenness of Daria's assent. "You don't have any questions?"

"None that are likely to do me any good in the next ten minutes, because I won't remember them. Just do me a favor and don't take anything I say after you erase my memory of this conversation personally."

"I won't," the psychiatrist said. "Faith and I set up some trigger phrases to remind you of this if it ever becomes necessary."

"Good idea. I hope it doesn't." After a second, "What are the trigger phrases?"

"Something out of Faith's past. I'm not sure of the significance; I only know they meant a lot to her. I'll say, 'I never knew you had such rage in you.' And you'll say, 'What can I say? I'm the world's best actress.' And I'll say 'Second best.'"

"Kind of elaborate."

"That's intentional. It's not something I want anyone else to be able to guess." She looked up at the clock on the wall. "There will be other triggers, but we're starting to run up against the clock here. Are you sure you're okay with this?"

"Absolutely." She wasn't sure, but she couldn't come up with any other ideas. And like Faith, she wasn't going to try to break out.

"Okay, then," Dr. Vaughn said.

X X X X X

This all came flooding back to Daria instantaneously. Dr. Vaughn saying "Okay then" was the last thing she remembered, so that must have been when the psychiatrist put her into the trance.

"I agreed to this," she whispered. The rage wasn't gone, but for some reason for the moment it seemed easier to maintain.

"You did," Dr. Vaughn confirmed. "I wouldn't have done it otherwise." Then she laughed ruefully. "What I wasn't expecting was how far you'd go to try to bring Faith back on your own."

"It didn't work. Obviously."

"Not only didn't it work, it backfired about as badly as it could have short of you getting yourself shot." Then, looking warily down the hall, "Not that that wasn't an outside option."

"If that's the tranquilizer rifle," Daria said, "I told Warden Juarez to use it if things got much worse. That would have been better than taking any chance on me hurting someone."

"I don't think that's going to be necessary now."

"Sure," Daria snorted. "_Now_, it's not. But what about when you make me lose my memory again?" The psychiatrist started at that. "I'm not stupid, Dr. Vaughn. And Faith was right -- I'm not a good enough actress to keep up that level of anger. And I don't think the way I went about it last night makes an acceptable substitute. Not unless the warden doesn't actually mind holes in the walls of her prison."

"She does," Dr. Vaughn said. "Speaking of which . . ."

"How am I doing this? Adrenaline, plus the fact that Faith is stronger than she looks." Daria certainly wasn't about to tell her the truth.

"Hmmm." Dr. Vaughn didn't sound like she believed Daria, but also sounded like she had more important things to worry about. Then she stepped closer to the bars, holding up her right hand in a "stop" gesture as she did so, saying, "Don't worry. I think the danger has passed."

"Yeah," Daria said. "Until you trigger my amnesia again and I decide to try some other stupid maneuver to get Faith back."

"I'll give you a post-hypnotic suggestion not to do that," Dr. Vaughn said. "And I'll make sure you come see me at some point after you get out."

"Good idea," Daria said. "Do me a favor. Before you bring back my memory loss, bring me back to myself for a couple of minutes."

"I will," she promised.

X X X X X

Dr. Lynette Vaughn triggered Daria's trance state.

While she was under, she told her not to reread her aunt's book and that she would not remember the chapter that had set off her emotional outburst. She would have told Daria not to remember she'd even read it, but that would have brought about a greater puzzle -- finding a new way to explain Daria's fit of rage.

She told her not to attempt to bring Faith back at all on her own. That she could be angry and upset at the "removal" of Faith's personality but that that was it. And that, once she was out of prison, she was to find Lynette -- whatever pretext she needed -- and that Lynette would say the phrase that would bring Faith back.

At that time, she told Daria, she would set it up so Faith and Daria could trigger the personality switches on their own.

"When you wake up from the trance," Lynette said, "You will remember everything I've said to you, so you can have some time to come to terms with it."

"Thank you," Daria said.

Then she was struck by curiosity. "Daria, why are your punches damaging the cell?"

"No."

"No?"

"I don't care how deep this trance is," Daria said. "I'm not answering that question."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not my secret to tell," Daria said.

"Would Faith tell me?"

Despite being under deep hypnosis, Daria smiled faintly. "I don't know. I'm not Faith."

Lynette hesitated, then gave up. This was a mystery, definitely, but not one she desperately needed answers to.

"I may do that . . . but it's not important right now."

Then she spoke the phrase that snapped Daria out of her trance. Daria scowled at Lynette and said, "Don't do that again. And don't discuss it with anyone else, either. I'm not sure Faith will tell you about it, but I can't and won't. When I say it's not my secret, I'm not kidding."

"Fair enough."

Daria took a deep breath and said, half mumbling, "Thank you for rushing down here. Especially after everything I've said about you. And everything I'll say again five minutes from now."

Lynette smiled. "You're welcome, Daria."

"I guess I really can trust you."

"You can. But it's nice to hear you say it. Especially given your general opinion of most other members of the human race."

"A perception I haven't changed, by the way," Daria said. Then, muttering once again, "And you're also welcome."

Lynette sensed that Daria felt awkward about what she'd done and the things she'd said. "There's no reason for you to feel guilty about any of this. You and Faith and I deliberately ser it up this way. You're _supposed_ to think about me in those terms. I'm not taking any of it personally."

"I'm glad to hear that," Daria said. "One more thing. How are we going to smooth things over with the warden?"

"I'll use the adrenaline excuse to explain the damage to the wall and floor," Lynette said. "It's not a bad idea." Even though she knew full well it was an excuse.

"And to explain why I had this two-three hour fit in the first place?"

"I'll blame myself," Lynette said. "When I removed the Faith person from you, I did a somewhat sloppy job, which left you having to deal with emotions you weren't prepared to handle. And, of course, I _am_ to blame for not telling her what had happened. And by that, of course --"

"The same thing you told everyone else," Daria said. "I get that."

"_Almost _everyone," Lynette said.

Daria's smile returned briefly. "Of course." Then she took another deep breath. "Okay. Mr. DeMille, I'm ready for my close-up."

X X X X X

Daria came to suddenly, and glared at Dr. Vaughn through the bars of her cell. Her rage was gone -- contained, she supposed, since she knew it was still inside, waiting for a day that would never come, the day Faith could deal with it again.

She supposed she should thank the psychiatrist, but she couldn't bring herself to do so.

After all, no matter that she'd prevented Daria from destroying the cell and getting thrown into solitary, this was still the woman who'd sent Faith away.

At least now, she knew better than to reread that chapter. She knew she'd read it, but she couldn't remember anything in it. No doubt, that was also Dr. Vaughn's handiwork.

Still staring angrily at the woman, Daria said, "I think the crisis has passed. You can leave now."

"Will you be okay?"

"Assuming you care? Probably. I can't make any guarantees," Daria said. "I'll certainly be better once you're gone."

"This is my fault," Dr. Vaughn said. "And I'll tell them that. You won't get blamed for this."

"I shouldn't," Daria said. "It _is_ your fault. And on the off chance you're waiting for me to thank you, you'll be settling in for a good, long wait."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Dr. Vaughn said, and turned around and walked off.

So. Faith wasn't coming back. Everyone except Faith's PI friend Angel had apparently conspired to get rid of Faith. And there was nothing Daria could do about it.

She wished she could go to back to bed. At least then she could get some training done.

X X X X X

"You're in a suspiciously good mood today," Wesley said. Given the outcome of Faith's hearing, that Angel hadn't spent all of yesterday and most of today brooding had come as somewhat of a surprise.

"Yes, I suppose I am," Angel said, and kept right on walking.


	27. Chapter 27

Author's Question: Do you folks want to see part of the media blitz or just read about it indirectly through the reactions of the main characters?

Disclaimer: The _Buffy_ and _Angel_ characters are Joss Whedon's; the _Daria_ characters were created by Glenn Eichler; and everyone else was created by me.

X X X X X

After reading the article in the newspaper, Amy Barksdale dressed, collected her sister from the adjoining hotel room, and cleared out of the building within ten minutes, well before anyone could figure out where they were."

"I don't know why we're doing this, Amy," Rita protested as they drove away. "It's not like anyone knows where we are."

"You mean, apart from the bellboys, the concierge, the maids, the security guards, four cab drivers and half the DA's office?"

"Right!"

Amy sighed. Getting through to Rita was sometimes more trouble than it was worth. "Just humor me, okay?"

"I always do," Rita said with a long-suffering air. "So, were you planning to just drive around Los Angeles all day or did you have a particular destination in mind?"

"I thought we'd cruise around until we ran out of gas in the worst possible neighborhood. Would you prefer the _barrio_ or The Valley?"

Rita scowled. "Funny, Amy. I'm sure you get my point."

Amy did. She thought about what Rita had said. She could go to the LA County Jail and the Barksdale sisters could try to sort things out with Daria; she could go to the DA's office, find Carla Fisk, and try to come up with a way to deal with the incipient media blitz; she could head over to Angel's office -- while she probably wouldn't get an enthusiastic response, but she was fairly sure they'd be isolated from the reporters; or they could go to Disneyland.

She mentioned these options to Rita -- minus Disneyland -- and she said, "Why should we hide?"

"Um, because we have no desire to throw ourselves in front of a howling mob of reporters?"

"And why not?" When Amy didn't answer right away, Rita went on, "Obviously this is going to be a huge story. We need to be sure we have our side out there before a lot of people who don't know what they're talking about try to paint Daria as a murderer who's trying to get away with it."

"Rather than the victim she is," Amy mused.

"Exactly!" Rita said. Rita's argument had its merits. Even though Amy was the best-known person in her family (after, unfortunately, Daria), she shied away from publicity. She'd had to be bullied into doing a book tour when _April 10, 1997_ had come out.

Rita, who had always been more of a people person than either Amy or Helen, would have been a lot better at the job. "So," Amy said, "You think the best option is to coordinate our efforts with those of the DA's office?"

"Yes!" Rita said. "I can't see why you'd want to do anything else."

Of course she couldn't.

Nonetheless, it was possible she was right. "Hand me my cell phone," Amy said. "I'm going to call the DA's office."

"Go ahead and try," Rita said.

Try? In any event, she pulled into a shopping center parking lot and made the call. Fifteen minutes later, when she was still on hold, she gave up.

"It's possible the media blitz has already started," Amy said dubiously. Plus, of course, a normal day's business for a DA's office probably wasn't doing anything to lighten the load. "We should probably drive right over." As they left the parking lot, Amy said, "You knew it wouldn't be worth the effort to call, didn't you?"

"Mmm-hmmm. I also knew that you wouldn't believe me if I told you." Then she let out a brief laugh. "Amy, we're both Barksdales. We're stubborn. Sometimes to the point of being pig-headed, or you and I wouldn't have barely spoken for over ten years. The important thing is, we're here now, and we're doing what we can to help Daria."

"You do realize that famous Barksdale stubbornness will probably have her not speaking to us for the fourteen years, right?"

"She's alive and she'll be free. That's the important thing."

Rita, as usual, was supremely confident.

Amy, as usual, wasn't so sure.

X X X X X

Carla Fisk's boss had immediately pulled her off of all of her other cases so she could deal with the reporters. This didn't happen often, but under the circumstances the District Attorney felt that the reporters would prove too distracting for Carla to be able to give her full effort to the rest of work. He'd also made it clear that this wasn't a knock on her abilities. (On the other hand, Carla noticed that he was also making it clear that she was the one in the line of fire.)

This was after a meeting yesterday in which he'd gone over every part of the case in excruciating detail, to make sure "All the i's were dotted, the t's crossed, and there's no way any of this can come back to bite us in the ass. After all, it's usually not our job to let murderers back out on the street -- even ones with medical reasons."

"And if this had been a paid expert witness for the defense, sir," Carla had said, "I would have been as skeptical as you are. But this was Lynette Vaughn. She's helped us break more phony psychiatric defenses than you can count."

"Did you contact the victim's families?" he asked.

"No one to contact, sir. Faith Lehane's first victim was a single man whose sole surviving relative has late-stage Alzheimer's, and her second was an older man whose parents have been dead for twenty years, who never married, and who left no children."

"It _is_ possible he was gay," the DA had said.

"No bereaved lovers of any gender have shown up," was Carla's reply.

"That's good," the DA had said. "No victim families means no one showing up to complain about how we're trampling over victim's rights by freeing a killer. Still, I don't have to tell you how many hit's the LA prosecutor's office has taken over the last ten years or so. The McMartin Trial. OJ Simpson. Rodney King. Reginald Denny."

"With all due respect, sir, I don't think this is going to come out as another way we've screwed up." And anyway, the McMartins -- accused of multiple counts of child abuse -- had probably actually been innocent. "I think if we paint it right we can come off as both protectors of the innocent and the public."

"Then I'd be aggressive about it if I were you," he'd said. "Wait until the story is published, then start making phone calls."

Carla hadn't even had the time. She'd made sure she got to the building the second it opened, and she already had a half dozen calls. (The _LA Times_ early edition hit the streets before 6 AM; local morning show producers and radio talk show hosts read it as soon as it came out to see if there were any stories they needed to keep an eye on. One TV producer, two morning show producers, and two talk show hosts had already called. So had Kal Endicott, who was interested in doing a lengthier follow-up piece.

This was likely to make the _Times_ reporter's career. People and police departments had been looking for Daria Morgendorffer for exactly four years, and Kal Endicott -- who had no doubt been assigned the general courtroom beat because the more experienced reporters had more interesting things to do -- was the man who'd lucked into breaking the story.

Carla had nothing against Kal Endicott, who had resisted what had to have been a desire to sensationalize the story, and had played fair with everyone involved, including the DA's office, Amy Barksdale, Dr, Vaughn, and Daria and Faith themselves.

It was ironic, she thought as she debated which calls to return. (One of the talk show hosts was a Howard- Stern wannabe, without Stern's dignity and decorum. No chance in hell was she appearing on that one.) Even she thought of Daria and Faith as different people.

Legally, they weren't; there was only one body between them; but they were so different.

If only they hadn't been, maybe this wouldn't have been an issue.

Of course, Carla thought soberly, as long as she was making wishes about this case, maybe she should wish for Willard Jay Harbaugh to have been drowned at birth.

Carla settled in, made sure she was comfortable, and, putting on her best I'm-from-the-government-I'm-here-to-help-you voice, started returning phone calls. "Hello. Mr. Endicott? Yes, this is Carla Fisk from the ADA's office. I understand you have some more questions for me?"

X X X X X

Other people besides radio talk show hosts were reading the paper that morning. So were things that weren't exactly people.

Most of the latter looked at the news and, if they entertained any wild notions about going after the imprisoned Slayer, dismissed these thoughts almost as soon as they came into their head. Lilah Morgan had had Wolfram & Hart staff call most of the company's major clients and tell them that Faith Lehane was under their protection; whether they held a grudge against her or just wanted to notoriety of taking down a Slayer, it would be best if they didn't if they wanted their working relationship with the law firm to remain pleasant, amiable, and entirely free of random decapitations.

Then Lilah had taken the best muscle she could whistle up on short notice -- there _were_ idiots out there who'd attack anyone, and Lilah wasn't stupid enough to assume she could brazen her way out of any situation by the sheer force of her personality and the evocation of the name Wolfram & Hart -- and had taken a whirlwind tour of demon, vampire, lycanthrope, and other miscellaneous "ghoulies and goblins and long-legged beasties and things that went bump in the night" hangouts in the greater Los Angeles area and told them the same things she'd told their clients.

This left her severely short on sleep, but Wolfram & Hart had sorcerous means of dealing with that. Lilah didn't like having to use them, but under the circumstances she'd rather deal with the side effects than angry supervisors.

She knew the story would come out at some point, it being just a matter of time before some local reporter picked up on the fact. That it came out on Tuesday morning caught her off-guard. A little digging indicated how: Kal Endicott, the junior _LA Times _reporter who'd broken the story, had just happened to be in the right place at the right time.

Lilah was thankful that she'd spent the last three days cluing everyone in to the new state of affairs or she could have gotten in a lot of trouble. The Senior Partners were not notoriously forgiving.

She sighed, directed some of the junior staffers to monitor the growing media coverage -- Wolfram & Hart had a media room in which you could get feeds from any radio or TV station in the country -- and settled back to watch the fireworks.

X X X X X

Wesley put out a hand to stop Angel. "Are you going to explain the reason for this good mood of yours? I mean, considering the events of the past couple of days, and the public firestorm that is sure to come down on Faith and everyone even remotely associated with her, I would expect you to either be holed up in your room or venting your frustrations on the local demon community. Instead, you're here, acting as though you didn't have a care in the world."

"Not at all, Wes," Angel said. "The publicity _does_ worry me. But most of it is going to come down on Amy Barksdale and that district attorney. Daria is safely in jail. And at the moment the prospect of those two women facing a frenzied mob of reporters doesn't bother me all that much."

"Oddly enough," Wesley said with a faint trace of sarcasm, "That wasn't my main concern."

"I get that. You know me. I'd be brooding . . . if I had something to brood over."

Wesley kicked himself that it had taken him this long to figure it out, but he caught one. A grin breaking out on his face, he said, "You have a plan."

Angel said, "A plan exists. But I'm not the one who created it. I just know about it."

"And the reason you haven't told the rest of us about this is . . . "

"Because the fewer people who know about what it is, the less likely it is to get out. I trust you. I trust Cordy and Gunn, for that matter. But the person who came up with the plan doesn't know you and I promised her I'd keep the details to myself."

"May I at least assume that, despite the outcome of yesterday's court battle, Faith may not be gone for good?"

Angel smiled and clapped Wesley on the back. "You can assume anything you like, Wes."

Which was all the confirmation Wesley needed. "Thank you."

"For what?" Angel said as he left.


	28. Chapter 28

Author's Note: _Jill of the Forest_ is my own invention. But it doesn't sound like a horrible idea, does it?

Also, the blitz begins. And yes, _Pravda_ still exists.

Disclaimer: All _Buffy_ characters belong to Joss Whedon; all _Daria _characters belong to Glenn Eichler; all other characters and the plot belong to me, and any use without my express written consent and the consent of major league baseball is strictly prohibited.

X X X X X

After Lynette left the prison -- making sure Daria would feel minimal repercussions for what had happened that morning -- she'd reflected on what she'd done. Under most circumstances, doing what she'd appeared to have done would have been serious enough to cause her to lose her medical license and possibly face criminal charges. But Carla Fisk and Amy Barksdale weren't likely to complain, and if Maggie Silber found out about it, Lynette would happily explain the truth.

That left only Bonnie Juarez. And Bonnie seemed to want to know only what she needed to to make sure her prison ran smoothly. It wasn't likely she'd be an issue.

She _had_ gotten Faith and Daria's consent. That one of them didn't remember it and the one was buried inside the other for the immediate future was irrelevant. Even though she'd thought it was the only way to preserve Faith's personality, she wouldn't have gone along with it if either one of them hadn't consented. And since she'd done it Monday morning, before the hearing to declare Daria's incompetence, their agreement was all that was required.

If it ever came down to the choice between preserving her career and Faith's life? She wasn't sure what she'd pick.

Of course she was. She'd get in trouble either way -- either she was trying to circumvent the wishes of the LA DA's office, or she was an unethical psychiatrist who was willing to go against the explicitly stated wishes of her patient. (And again, even though Faith/Daria had fewer rights as a convict, she _did_ have to consent to radical therapy.)

So, simply by practical standards, if it ever came down to a choice between throwing herself into the line of fire or her _and_ Faith, it was no choice at all.

It shouldn't come down to that choice. But it was good to be prepared.

She had no idea what Amy Barksdale's plans were -- but Lynette was confident enough in her abilities as a psychiatrist and her abilities as a hypnotist that she was certain that no other psychiatrist would be able to figure out what she did, even if they were suspicious at how quickly she was able to erase Faith's personality. The post-hypnotic suggestions she'd left Daria pretty much assured that no other hypnotist would be able to break through the story the three of them had come up with, no matter how hard they tried.

She pictured the conversation in her head. "So, Dr. Vaughn, given how complex DID is, how is it you managed to remove the Faith persona so quickly, and how can you be so sure it's gone?"

"I'd been seeing Faith for over a year and had built up a very strong level of trust with her. When I told her, under hypnosis, that she had to 'go away' now because it was best for Daria, she said she'd do exactly that. She said it'd be like jumping off a building -- like she'd be finishing something that should've been finished a long time ago." Faith had given her that suggestion. She knew, from reading Faith's history, that Faith had been in a fight that had ended up with her being stabbed and falling off a building, only being saved from death by sheer luck -- a pickup truck had been driving by and she'd fallen into its bed.

"So the Faith personality _agreed_ with this? Even after she and the Daria personality made this pact that Daria would try her hardest to make certain that the Faith persona didn't disappear?"

"I think Faith saw it as her redemption. She'd be paying the ultimate penalty for her crimes, and someone who was completely innocent would be free to live their own life without any interference from her." That had also been Faith's suggestion. Lynette had actually wondered at the time if Faith might not have had some thoughts along those lines.

If so, Lynette was happy she'd been able to derail them. She wasn't in the business of enabling suicides, and that's exactly what that kind of sacrifice by Faith would have been, in her mind -- suicide.

The important thing is, Amy Barksdale and Carla Fisk wouldn't see it that way.

She had all these thoughts while driving. Along the way, she also called her home phone to check her messages.

She had ten in the last two hours. One was from her husband, who'd seen the story in his own copy of the _Times_ on location -- he had it specially delivered, one of the few perks he allowed himself -- and wanted to be sure she was okay.

Him, she called back. He was on the set, but fortunately, shooting hadn't yet begun for the day. (Will was the creator and producer and main director of a summer series for the USA Network called _Jill of the Forest _ -- a comedy-drama about a park ranger. They were doing all of their location shots at once, which is why he hadn't been home for three weeks.)

Will offered to come home immediately, but she turned him down. Sure, the set could do without him for a few days, but this wasn't his fight and she didn't want to have his new series associated with any of this -- negative publicity, no matter how tenuously associated, could damage it, and she preferred to avoid that.

Eight were from assorted reporters, radio talk shows, and even a couple of TV shows. Six of those were local. Two were not.

She didn't bother with them. She'd said all she needed to say in the report. Her reputation would have to speak for itself.

One was from someone with an interesting invitation. "Come on over," he said, giving an address. "You can hide out here for a while." He then gave an address.

It was easily the best offer she'd had all morning.

And, anyway, she'd heard all kinds of interesting things about the Hyperion.

X X X X X

Daria's punishment for having treated her cell as though she were Lou Ferrigno was practically nonexistent: She had to stay _out_ of the cell for the rest of the day while the warden hustled someone in to do repairs on it. After grabbing her copy of _April 10, 1997_ so she could return it to the library -- she certainly wasn't going to try reading it again -- she followed the warden and the two wary guards.

"Dr. Vaughn says you're fine now, and I trust her," the warden said. "And she said your fit was her fault. There won't be any repercussions."

"Thank you," Daria said sincerely. "I appreciate the lengths you're going to to help me."

"You're welcome," Warden Juarez said. Then, in a much quieter voice, she said, "But if anything like that happens again, you're on your own. There's only so much shit I'll put up with."

"I understand."

So, first to lunch -- where Daria ate as much as she could, even given the mediocre quality of the food. The combination of missing breakfast and two hours of adrenaline had left her starving. Fortunately, there were a lot of fried foods on the menu today, and it took a lot of work for _any_ cafeteria to seriously mess up fried foods.

And Daria didn't want to hear about how unhealthy they were. She _knew_ how unhealthy they were. She also knew that she'd never smoked, drank alcoholic beverages, or taken illegal drugs, nor did she have any plans to do so in the future. So she figured she could handle some fried chicken patties now and again. She would have killed for a pizza, but the kind of pizza they had in here was the kind that you wouldn't have fed to your worst enemy.

Well, _most people_ wouldn't have fed them to their worst enemy. Daria would have cheerfully given Dr. Vaughn a few slices at this point. And that echo of Buffy inside her head could probably do with a slice.

After that she got to go out in the main yard -- where, to her surprise, she was receiving looks from all of the other inmates. Not death glares; looks of respect and admiration. One of them came up to her, finally, as she was walking over towards the exercise area. Daria cut off whatever she was about to say and asked, "What's this all about?" in her best imitation of Faith's voice."

"Girl," and since her fellow inmate must have had a good 25 -- no, 20 -- years on her Daria let it pass -- "You scared the shit out of the guards with what you pulled this morning. It's all over the inside, you cursing and beating the hell out of your cell wall. And now here you are out again? They scared of you, girl. I can't think a one of us hasn't wanted to see that look in their eyes." After a second, "So how'd you pull it off?"

"Luck and adrenaline," Daria said. "The cell walls were kinda weak --" Of course, they weren't; if any of the other inmates started punching their walls to try to break out all they'd get is bruised knuckles and irritated guards -- guards who _wouldn't _be afraid enough of them not to come into their cells -- "and the Doc blew somethin' the last time she and I had a therapy session. That's how come I had a two-hour long screaming fit."

The other inmate -- Daria didn't know her name, didn't know any of her fellow inmates' names, in fact, and liked it that way -- said, "Warden ain't going to be too happy with her, girl."

"No fuckin' kiddin'," Daria said. "It doesn't say much for her competence."

"Betcha nothing happens to her."

"Can't disagree with you there," Daria said. The other inmate nodded and left her alone, which is exactly what Daria had wanted.

But as she approached the exercise area, she stopped. Now wasn't the time to be giving either the guards or the other inmates more evidence of her superhuman strength. So she settled for about twenty push-ups -- she would have been lucky to do more than a couple in PE back in Highland, not that she ever put forth the effort -- and a sprint from one end of the exercise yard to the other and back again.

This still left her barely winded, but it was about as much activity as she felt she could get away with it. She also noticed that she probably could have run as fast as any typical Olympic-level sprinter. Apparently Slayer strength and endurance also made for Slayer speed.

As she headed inside -- still noticing her fellow inmates' look of respect -- she picked up her copy of _April 10, 1997_ and, with the guards' okay, headed back to the prison library.

Sometime, probably today or tomorrow, her aunt would come by to tell of her future as someone so clearly incompetent to make their make their own decisions.

In the meantime, she'd read.

X X X X X

It wasn't even noon yet, and Carla Fisk was exhausted.

For the first couple of hours -- until a bit after 10:30 -- the calls were mostly local. There was one from a newspaper in Highland, Texas -- she took that one -- and one from San Diego, but everyone else was from the greater Los Angeles area.

Anyone who showed up at the door was being handled by some low-level ADA who, either by terrible luck or by somehow getting on the bad side of the District Attorney, was being told that "Ms. Fisk will have a press conference today at 1 PM."

Really? She didn't know that. She supposed she'd better come up with something interesting to say.

The only people let past the front door to talk to her were Rita and Amy Barksdale. She hadn't yet had the pleasure of meeting the older Barksdale sister, so as soon as she got the chance she put her phone on hold, ran to the restroom, grabbed a cup of coffee, and introduced herself.

"Media frenzy?" Amy asked.

"Media frenzy. It's not being helped by the two of you, Daria, and Dr. Vaughn being 'unavailable for comment.' I'm sure Kal Endicott is thoroughly enjoying this, but I'm not."

"You had to have known this was coming," Rita said.

"I did. But knowing it's coming and actually being ready for it are two different things. Listen. I don't have a lot of time; why did the two of you stop by? Because I think actually hashing out what's going to happen with Daria would be best left for another day."

"We were thinking," Rita said, "That maybe we should coordinate our efforts."

"Terrific," Carla said. "I've got a press conference at 1. Having you two there to answer more questions would be a lot of help. I'm going to take a lunch at noon and the three of us can discuss how we're going to present ourselves."

"Terrific," Amy echoed wryly. "Nothing I like more than answering the same stupid question phrased twenty-five different ways."

Carla laughed. "What the hell do you think I've been doing for the last three hours?"

When she got back to her office, the situation started exploding.

In rapid succession she talked to reporters from the Baltimore_ Sun, Houston Chronicle, Dallas Morning News, Washington Post_, and the _New York Times._

Then _USA Today._

After taking five minutes with her -- all she wanted, basically, was a confirmation of everything she was telling everyone else, and for more than a second Carla was sorely tempted to say, "No, the entire thing's been a lie. Joke's on you!"

On second thought, that would probably get her fired

On third thought, that would probably be more fun than what she was doing now.

She shook off the third thought and continued taking phone calls. A half dozen AP reporters called, followed by three from Reuters. She talked to the first representative in each case and told the rest to check with their colleagues.

It was then that the _truly _big boys started getting into the act.

_CNN_ was the first national TV outlet to call her -- they wanted a phone interview as soon as she could provide one, and then they wanted her on _Larry King Live_ that night. (Kal Endicott, who must have been down on his knees thanking whatever god he held most dear, was also going to be on.)

She checked with the DA and he said that was fine -- meaning, of course, that it she screwed up it was her neck that was going to be on the chopping block.

Then NBC. Then Fox. Then Court TV (she gave them a bit longer; they actually asked questions no one else had thought of.)

Then the _BBC_. The frigging _British national news channel_.

What the hell was next? _Pravda?_


	29. Chapter 29

Palladium Lane is made up. _Dhalgren_ is not. It's an excellent book, if you have the patience for it.

Disclaimer: Glenn Eichler created the _Daria_ charactersJoss Whedon created the _Buffy_ and _Angel_ characters; I created Carla Fisk and Dr. Lynette Vaughn, and the storyline.

X X X X X

Wesley's head jerked up when the tall woman came barreling into the Hyperion's front lobby. "Do you people have any way I can hide my car?" Cordelia, standing behind the desk not twenty feet away, did likewise.

"I'm sorry," Wesley said. "Can I help you?"

"Yes," the woman said. "My name is Lynette Vaughn -- didn't Angel tell you I'd be coming?"

Cordelia fairly erupted from behind the desk, saying, "Well, _you've _got nerve," she said. "You've killed Faith, so now what? You're here to rub it in Angel's face?"

Wesley held her back once she reached him. When Cordelia began to sputter in outrage, Wesley said, "Peace, Cordelia. I believe things are not as they appear with the good doctor." Then, to the psychiatrist: "No parking garage, sorry. There's an alley around back if you'd like."

"Will the car be safe there?"

"Reasonably safe," Wesley said.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," she said, and turned around and left.

Once she was out the door, Cordelia broke free of Wesley's grasp and said, "Okay, what the hell?"

"While Angel didn't see fit to let me in on the details," Wesley said, "I believe that Faith's 'death' may not be permanent." Then a thought struck him. "And why are you so concerned with Faith's welfare? The last time I checked, you were hardly her biggest fan."

"Yeah, well, neither were you," came Cordelia's rejoinder.

"True, but I at least bear some responsibility for her being in this state in the first place."

"Big ol' guilt feelings driving this bus?" Cordelia asked.

"I prefer to think of it as 'having assumed a sense of adult responsibility," but you have the essence," Wesley admitted.

"So why would Angel invite her here?"

Wesley said, "My hypothesis -- which Angel has not officially confirmed -- is that Dr. Vaughn somehow only pretended to remove Faith's personality from her, and at some point in the future will bring her back out again."

"With Daria's consent, I'm assuming," Cordelia said.

"No ethical psychiatrist could do otherwise."

Lynette Vaughn came back in. "Sorry. I would've thought Angel would have let you know I was coming. After the _Times_ story broke this morning, I knew if I stayed home I'd have been mobbed by reporters both by phone and camped out around my front door. I just called my nearest neighbor to apologize. They don't seem to be bothering her yet."

"Nearest neighbor?" Cordelia asked. "If you don't mind me asking . . ."

"Palladium Lane."

Cordelia let out a low whistle. "That means something to you, Cordelia?" Wesley asked.

Looking at Wesley as though he were quite possibly the stupidest man on Earth -- a look she gave at least three times daily, so Wesley was more or less immune by now -- Cordelia said, "Palladium Lane is a pretty ritzy neighborhood. Not Spielberg-level, but only a step or two down." Then she looked at Dr. Vaughn. "If you have that much --?"

It was a fairly rude question, but Dr. Vaughn took it in stride. "Because I enjoy it. I was doing it before I married Will -- it's how we met, in fact, on the set of an episode of -- and I didn't see any reason to stop just because I'd lucked into money. Tell me, would you stop what you're doing if you were suddenly rich?"

"In a cold minute," Cordelia said.

Wesley very much doubted that, never mind that Cordelia couldn't quit because she was the one having the visions. In any event, it wasn't what was important right now.

Dr. Vaughn laughed as though she'd figured that out as well. Wesley took the opportunity to ask her, "So am I correct in my assumption that Faith is indeed not gone for good?"

The laugh cut off abruptly. Dr. Vaughn's eyes narrowed and she said, "I don't know where you got that idea from, but --"

"But nothing," Cordelia said. "Wesley's right. Angel wouldn't put you out if you were you were on fire if he thought you'd _actually_ killed Faith. And he invites you to drop on by and take shelter from a howling mob of reporters? No. Something's up here."

"Even stipulating that something is," Dr. Vaughn said, "I can't tell you. Where is Angel, anyway?"

Wesley was about to answer that Angel was asleep when he heard the vampire's voice from the top of the staircase. "And we're not even stipulating that. I see you've met my colleagues Cordelia and Wesley."

The psychiatrist's voice sound relieved when she said, "Angel. I'm glad to see you. I wasn't expecting the third degree."

"My colleagues may be overzealous, but their hearts are in the right place," Angel said as he walked down the steps. "Even though I specifically told Wesley this wasn't really his business."

"You never told me that," Cordelia said. "And you seem to be forgetting something, buddy. You're not the boss anymore. You have no right to be telling Wesley to do anything."

Cordelia might have hit on something. "And you don't have a right to be involving Angel investigations in something without my consent," Wesley said.

"I'm not," Angel said curtly.

"She's standing right there," Cordelia said.

"So she is. But I haven't involved _Angel Investigations_ in anything. There's no client here, just a friend in need."

"We've both been helping you throughout all of this!" Cordelia said disbelievingly.

"And as a friend, I thank you," Angel said, grinning slightly. Cordelia threw up her hands in frustration.

While Wesley was fairly certain of what was going on, he still wanted the details. "Fair enough. But by bringing her here you _have_ involved the agency, Angel, whether it was your intent or not." There. Let's see him try to answer that.

"Not at all," the vampire said self-assuredly. "I realize that Angel Investigations is headquartered here. But while they may be my _employers_ --" and he stressed the word sarcastically -- "I still own the building. Dr. Vaughn, I have a room ready for you." He turned to walk back up the stairs.

The psychiatrist followed him.

X X X X X

Amy and Rita marked time in an unused conference room while waiting for lunch. While Rita scribbled frantically on a borrowed notepad, Amy pulled out the novel she'd brought with her -- Samuel R. Delany's _Dhalgren -- _and began reading.

After fifteen minutes, Rita put her pen down and said, "Really, Amy. You could be helping me."

"I could be," she said.

"Then why aren't you? You know how important this is."

"Because this isn't something I'm any good at. I don't do prepared talks well. Don't you remember my interview on the _Today Show_? I rehearsed my answers to Matt Lauer's questions and came off like Gort from _The Day the Earth Stood Still_. No, come to think of it, 'Klaatu Barada Nikto' would have been an improvement."

"But Amy, you did very well during the NPR interview."

Amy was stunned. Not that Rita had listened to the interview; that Rita had even heard of National Public Radio. Rita wasn't stupid, but she was about as intellectual as Howard Stern. Trying not to let her surprise appear on her face, Amy said, "Yes. And I didn't spend a lot of time preparing for that one. I'm much better doing this kind of thing off-the-cuff."

"Then why did you bother agreeing to 'prepare a response' with that ADA?" Rita demanded.

Amy sighed. "Because plotting out a general strategy is fine. But, from looking at your notepad --" Rita had exceedingly neat handwriting; even when she was scribbling, she was easy to read -- "you're actually trying to plan specific responses. If the reporter from the LA TV station asks _this_, you'll say _that_. If the woman from the Associated Press wonders about _this_ scenario, you'll explain it like _so._ And so on."

"And if that's the way I prefer to do something like this? Sweetie, I've given speeches before. Sure, they were all at fundraisers or local gardening clubs, but I need to have everything written out. I just do _not_ have your talent for improvising."

Amy said, "Then you do it your way, I'll do it mine, and we'll try to coordinate everything with ADA Fisk so we can make sure we're all on the same page. Or at least, reading the same book. Speaking of which --" she waved _Dhalgren_ in the air.

"Get back to your book," Rita said. "But once I get some of these answers written, I'd appreciate it if you'd at least look them over to make sure I'm not saying anything stupid."

Amy smiled. "I'll do that."

She got back to_ Dhalgren_.

X X X X X

_Pravda_ didn't call.

Nor did _Maxim, ESPN_ or the _Weekly World News._

Apart from that, by shortly before noon Carla Fisk was fairly sure she'd talked with every major news organization in North America, a good proportion of the minor ones, and at least ten from across at least one ocean. When the _Sydney Morning Herald_ called, about half an hour ago, she officially stopped being surprised.

All of them were asking largely the same questions: Was she sure Faith Lehane was Daria Morgendorffer, could Daria be faking, what would the victims' families think about her letting a murderer out on the streets, what were Dr. Vaughn's credentials, and a half dozen others, repeated _ad nauseam_.

It got to the point where she was tempted to say that they were letting Daria out just on a whim because this particular DA hadn't taken a hit for blowing a major case yet, and he wanted to see how it felt. She restrained herself. Barely.

She figured out along the way that, while Willard Jay Harbaugh's murder spree and Daria's subsequent disappearance had been a nine-day wonder back in 1997, it had largely faded by 1999. There was a brief revival on both anniversaries, but that was about it.

And that's when Amy Barksdale's book had come out.

_April 10, 1997 _had shot to the top of the bestseller lists, doing even better than Ann Rule's _Eeny, Meeny, Minie, Moe_, also about the killings -- Carla had read both books -- because Amy Barksdale had a personal angle that Ann Rule absolutely couldn't match.

The publicity had made the Harbaugh murder spree and Daria Morgendorffer's disappearance one of those things that became cemented in the public's memory. Maybe not quite to the level of the JonBenet Ramsey case, but no more than a step down from that.

Carla had actually checked last night. There were websites about Daria. Websites speculating on what had actually happened -- and who might be responsible.

She'd never expected that.

And yet, with all of the publicity, with thousands upon thousands of people across the country looking for her, knowing what Daria had looked like, not a single one of them had ever connected her with Faith Lehane.

Not one.

Bizarre.

So the media frenzy could be laid at the feet of Amy Barksdale.

Somehow she thought bringing this up when she met them again in . . . five minutes now, would be counterproductive.

These thoughts had been going through Carla's head while she was answering the same old questions, this time from CBS radio. ". . . and that's why I'm convinced that Dr. Vaughn knows what she's talking about."

"So why isn't Dr. Vaughn available for comment?"

"I have no idea." Because Lynette Vaughn was smart. She knew exactly what would happen and buried herself in a deep hole somewhere.

"And Amy Barksdale?"

"Will be at the 1 PM press conference. Along with her sister Rita. Any questions you have for them, you can ask them then."

The CBS Radio reporter thanked her and hung up.

She checked her watch. Close enough to noon. She set her phone to voicemail -- normally a DA was supposed to have her calls forwarded but Carla didn't hate any of her colleagues _that_ much. Then she went to find the Barksdales in the spare conference room.

Amy Barksdale was quietly reading a thick novel; Rita Barksdale seemed to have filled up a full notebook with -- something or other. Amy noticed her first and put down her book. "Ms. Fisk. Thanks for giving us this sanctuary. I can't imagine what it's been like for you."

"No, you can't," Carla said as pleasantly as she could. "But in an hour or so you're going to get the chance."

"That's what I've been doing for the last hour and a half," Rita said, waving the notebook in Carla's face. "I've been trying to figure out how to answer the question the reporters are going to ask."

Carla laughed. "If what I've been doing for the last four hours is any indication, _these _are the questions." And she rattled off the ten questions or so she'd heard most often.

Rita nodded her head. "Good. I can work with that."

"I've ordered a couple of pizzas," Carla said as she sat down. "I hope that's okay."

""Not quite up to the level of cheese fries, but an excellent choice," Amy said.

"It'll do," Rita said. Somehow Carla got the impression Rita Barksdale was more used to lobster. But there were so few lobster places that delivered. "Anyway, here's how I think it should go . . ."

Fifty-five minutes later, Carla stood up. "Are you ready?"

"If I said no, would you postpone the conference?" Amy asked.

"That's a yes," Rita translated.

They went downstairs to the room where the DA's office held its press conferences. Taking a deep breath, Carla strode boldly forward. The Barksdales followed her.

"Good afternoon," she said. "My name is Carla Fisk. I'm an ADA with the LA County District Attorney's Office and I've been doing this for nine years. But you didn't come to hear about me. Approximately two weeks ago, on March 29, 2001 . . ."


	30. Chapter 30

Author's Note: Kendrick Talbot is not meant to represent anyone in particular.

Disclaimer: The _Buffy_ characters belong to Joss Whedon; the Daria characters belong to Glenn Eichler; the original characters belong to me.

X X X X X

Bonita Juarez heard about the press conference in the staff lunchroom when Josie came up and asked her, "Hey, boss. this press conference the DA's havin' about Lehane. Is that our Lehane?"

"Press conference?" Bonita said, frowning.

"Yeah, didn't you hear? Couple of the boys heard it on the radio during their break and asked me about it. I told them I'd ask you."

Thoughts of eating forgotten, Bonita said, "Tell me what you know."

"Okay. Guess you haven't heard about it then. An ADA named Carla somethin' is going to be 'answerin' all questions you may have' about Faith Lehane and some other girl named Darla somethin'."

"Daria," Bonita said absent-mindedly.

"Whatever," Josie said. "Anyway, she's goin' to be talkin' about it at 1 and I was wonderin' what you knew about it."

Bonita said, "Yeah. It's about Faith Lehane." Then a horrid thought struck her. "What time is it?"

"12:45."

There were no TVs in the prison, but there were radios. "I want all radios in the prison off by the time the conference starts. That includes the one in the break room. I don't want the prisoners figuring out what's going on." Some of them, if they thought Faith wasn't Faith any more, would try to start something -- especially the ones she'd embarrassed during her "new meat" fights. Sure, a lot of the prisoners might not understand what multiple personality disorder meant, but she wouldn't be willing to bet that none of them would.

Josie might not have understood the reason for the order, but she understood the tone in Bonita's voice. "Okay, people," she said. "You heard the lady. Move!"

Fifteen minutes later, after Bonita had gone back to her office, Josie came in. "Just checked every known radio," she said. "They're all off."

"Good work. Close the door behind you and come have a seat." As Josie did so, Bonita flipped on the radio. "Soundproofed office," she said.

After turning the dial for about ten seconds, Bonita got the press conference, and the two of them settled down to listen.

X X X X X

In the Hyperion, Angel, Cordelia, Wesley and Dr. Lynette Vaughn did the same thing.

Maggie Silber turned on her office television, making a mental note not to count this as billable hours for anyone, and watched.

Buffy Summers missed it entirely, as did Willow Rosenberg, Xander Harris, and Rupert Giles. Spike wouldn't have cared, even if he'd known.

Anya heard it, though. (It interrupted her favorite financial call-in show. She liked to make fun of the callers.) So did Tara MacLay, who by pure coincidence was in a UC-Sunnydale lounge studying when it came on CNN.

In the offices of Wolfram & Hart, Lilah Morgan made a special point of watching, partly for her own interest, mostly to be sure that something wasn't going to come out of the press conference that was going to turn around and bite her in the ass.

Literally.

Kal Endicott, of course, had better things to do.

X X X X X

"Let's see," Carla Fisk said. "With that, I think I've covered pretty much everything. If you'd hold the questions until after Amy and Rita Barksdale speak, I'd appreciate that." She didn't exactly have the mob of reporters eating out of her hand, Amy noted, but they didn't look like they were ready to rip her head off, literally or figuratively. In her 25-minute long speech, the ADA had covered everything from Dr. Vaughn's credentials to the murderous rampage of Willard Jay Harbaugh. It was possible she hadn't told them what Daria's middle name was, but Amy wouldn't have taken bets either way.

About the only thing she _hadn't_ gone into detail on was the Barksdale family history, preferring to let Amy and Rita handle that.

"One thing, quickly," a man from the middle of the room said. "How did you get assigned the case?" Smart man, to phrase the question neutrally. Even the slightest emphasis on the word 'you' would have been an insult to Carla Fisk, and the ADA was smart enough to pick up on things like that.

As it was, Ms. Fisk simply said, "Sheer luck."

"Good or bad?" the reporter asked, to the sound of general laughter.

"Yes," was Ms. Fisk's equally laughter-provoking response. "And, on that note, here are the Barksdales."

Amy and Rita both walked up to the podium, Rita confidently, Amy a bit less so. "The Barksdales," Amy said to Rita before they got there. "Makes us sound like we're a singing group."

"Not with your voice, sweetie," Rita said. "Hello!" to the reporters in general. "I'm Rita."

Amy leaned in "And I'm Amy." The phrasing seemed to call for them to say together, "And we're the Barksdales!" But somehow that seemed inappropriate.

They'd decided in the meeting with ADA Fisk that, since Rita was better at prepared speaking and Amy was better at being off-the-cuff, that Rita would do the majority of the speech and Amy would handle the reporters' questions.

"Which one of you is older?" One of the reporters asked.

"Don't ask questions you're not going to get the answers to," Rita snapped, at the same time Amy subtly pointed at her sister. When the crowd of reporters started laughing, Rita turned, saw Amy's thumb, and scowled for a second before joining in. "And now that we've broken the ice," Rita began. "Let me tell you a little something about the Barksdale family . . ."

X X X X X

Truth be told, Carla Fisk hadn't expected all that much out of Rita Barksdale, based on her admittedly brief association with the woman. She'd bragged about how good she was at public speaking, and trotted out a couple of fundraisers as examples.

Even given her low expectations, though, Carla had to admit the woman was doing very well. She was giving them a quick summary of their family history, how they'd reacted way back when they'd first been told about the Morgendorffers' deaths and Daria's disappearance, and how they reacted when Maggie Silber had given them a call in the middle of last week.

Amy then talked for about five minutes or so about what she'd done since she'd come to Los Angeles -- things Rita couldn't have known about. Then Rita finished up with what they had planned next for Daria.

After that, she backed up and Carla came forward and said the magic words.

"Any questions?"

X X X X X

"Ms. Fisk," the first question came. "You're a representative of the people of the county of Los Angeles, correct?"

"Of course."

"Then why are you trying to get a confessed multiple murderer out of prison?"

"Loaded question," Carla said. "I'm not trying to get a confessed multiple murderer out of prison. That would be Faith Lehane. I'm trying to get _Daria Morgendorffer_ out of prison."

"They're the same person," the same reporter said.

"No, they just share the same body," Carla said. "There's plenty of precedent here: where one personality commits a crime that the others are unaware of, and multiple personality disorder has been conclusively established, these people are usually sentenced to mental health facilities, not jail. You could look it up."

Amy added, "And since we plan to erase the Faith personality, not integrate her, there's no chance of a confessed multiple murderer getting out of jail. 'Faith' will never get out of jail."

The man sat down. A woman stood up and said, "Have you discussed this with her victims' families?"

"Her victims have no immediate families," Carla said. "At the time of Faith Lehane's original confession the DA's office tried to contact both victim's surviving relatives; the only one we found was in no condition to testify at the sentencing hearing and is in even less of a condition today."

"Ms. Barksdale," another woman said. "Are you planning to write another book about this?"

"No," Amy said. "And even if I change my mind in the future, I wouldn't do it without Daria's consent."

"Consent she can't give at the moment."

"There's a difference between legal consent and common courtesy," Amy said. "I don't need _legal_ consent to write about anyone, as I'm sure you're all well aware."

The woman nodded and sat down. "ADA Fisk," she said. "Have the authorities in Texas been made aware of this?"

"I asked them for records at one point," Carla said a bit confusedly. "Other than that, no. Why do you ask?"

"Well, Willard Jay Harbaugh is scheduled to die in the electric chair in under a month, and --"

Amy said, "May I?" Carla nodded and took a half step backward. "There may be some arcane legal reason why my niece being alive would be relevant to Harbaugh's defense. I'm not a lawyer, so I don't know. What I do know is that Harbaugh was sentenced to death for multiple counts of first-degree murder and armed robbery. Daria's disappearance was only mentioned at the trial in passing. As far as I know he was never charged with her murder or her disappearance. Right now, the only thing Daria could do is testify as a victim -- and the sentence has long since been passed."

"So she remembers the night of April 10, 1997?"

"Neither personality consciously remembers the night in any detail," Carla said, "According to Dr. Vaughn's reports."

"But you said you know what happened," the reporter said.

"We do. I said _consciously_. Dr. Vaughn discovered these memories through hypnosis."

"Speaking of Lynette Vaughn," a man from the back of the room said, "Why isn't she here?"

Carla said, "Because she doesn't agree with what we're doing," she said. "I have her report on the mental condition of Daria Morgendorffer, and I'm sure if you asked her she'd confirm that --"

"Maybe she would," an older man from the front of the room interrupted, "If we could find her." There was muttering from around the room.

"She probably figured something like this," Amy said, gesturing at the room, "Was going to happen, and is hiding out somewhere. Honestly, I can't blame her. No offense. And before you ask," she added, cutting off a couple of reporters beginning to ask questions, "I don't know where she is and I wouldn't told you if I did."

"Neither do I," Carla chimed in. "Anything else?"

"Is it possible Dr. Vaughn's being fooled?"

"Highly unlikely," Carla said, as Amy bristled. "Dr. Vaughn works for LA County. You all know that her testimony has been instrumental in busting the psychiatric defenses of dozens of other defendants. While she cares about the prisoners she sees in therapy, she's hardly biased in their favor." Then a small smile. "And you know that through her husband she knows all about actors. Yes, you."

A man from the side asked, "Did the District Attorney sign off on this decision to release Faith Lehane --"

"_Daria Morgendorffer_," Amy interrupted.

"Or," the reporter continued, "Did you make it on your own?"

"Nothing major gets done in this office without the approval of the District Attorney," Carla said. "That said, he trusts his subordinates to be able to work independently."

The man sat down with a mildly sour expression on his face.

A young woman from the middle of the room said, "How is it Kal Endicott happened to break this story?"

"From our point of view, luck," the ADA said. "As for his point of view, you'd have to ask him."

As the woman sat down, a red-haired man stood up and said, "Ms. Barksdale, why did you have your niece declared incapable of making her own decisions?"

Amy said, "The decision to have her declared _non compos mentis_ wasn't my decision, but Ms, Fisk's. I was happy to go along with it, though, because it offered the best chance of getting Daria out of prison as fast as possible."

"I appreciate the information," the reporter said, "But that's not what I meant. Isn't your niece as eager to get out of jail as you are to get her out? If that's the case, then why have her declared incompetent? Surely Dr. Vaughn's opinions would be enough --"

Carla and Amy looked at each other. "Ms. Morgendorffer is not in fact being cooperative," Carla finally said. "She wants us to come to some kind of arrangement where the Faith personality wouldn't be erased, and I would be remiss in speaking for the people if I let that happen."

"I've done a little digging on the Faith Lehane case," the same reporter continued. "Isn't it true that she confessed to her crimes and didn't ask for a sentence reduction?"

"That's correct," Carla said. "The only request she had -- which we granted -- was a cell to herself."

"Then isn't it possible that the Faith personality doesn't feel she's paid sufficiently for her crimes -- and that Daria is being influenced by that?"

"What Faith feels is irrelevant,' Amy said. "Whether she's paid for her crimes or not. And Daria does want to get out of prison -- after all, she never did anything to make her end up there."

Another man stood. "Really, Ms, Barksdale," he said in a voice dripping with scorn. "Your niece never did anything. You mean, apart from murdering two people, assaulting countless others, and fooling a bleeding-heart shrink and the LA prosecutors' office into thinking that she had multiple personality disorder? Come, come, Ms. Barksdale. We all know what _really_ happened that day in Highland."

"We do?" Amy said icily. "Please enlighten us."

"It's obvious," he said. "Your niece watched while Willard Jay Harbaugh killed those people and she found it exciting. When he left her alive, she decided that if he could get away with it, so could she. All this talk about 'another personality' is garbage. You know it, I know it, the world knows it. There are many reputable psychiatrists who believe that multiple personality disorder is a complete fiction."

As Carla stepped forward, Amy held a hand up. "No thanks, Ms. Fisk. I've got this one." Then, putting a delighted smile on her face, she said, "Thank you, Mr . . ."

"Kendrick Talbot. FOX News."

"Thank you, Mr. Talbot," Amy said. "Thank you for letting us know what's going on. Obviously Ms. Fisk at the DA's office, Dr. Vaughn, Maggie Silber, and myself have just been spinning our wheels for the last couple of weeks. Or maybe we've been puppets, dancing to the tune played by my 20-year old niece. Yes, Mr. Talbot, now that you've pointed out how truly Machiavellian my niece has been, we can all get a good hearty laugh at what fools we've been, how much money this has cost me, my sister, Mrs. Silber, the people of this county, and the DA's office. Thank you, Mr. Talbot, for pointing out our foolishness. Certainly we would have never done this if we'd known that. Thank you, Mr. Talbot, for relieving us of the notion that Dr. Vaughn was a conscientious and capable psychiatrist who knew what she was doing, that the DA's office was representing the best interests of the people, and that Daria Morgendorffer was a victim of one of the most vicious sons of bitches this country has seen in the last ten years. Certainly Everett Odom and Kendall Severance's similar experiences were also lies."

"They didn't lose their minds," Mr. Talbot said.

"You're right," Amy said. "I forgot. Everyone reacts the same. How stupid of me to have forgotten that. And I guess their treatments for post-traumatic stress disorder were made up. Scams to cheat the government."

"I don't think --"

"And I doubt you ever have," Amy said. "Now, does anyone have any _real_ questions to ask?"

A handful of more routine questions, and the conference ended when Carla said, "We will provide you with further information as it becomes available. And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm sure I have two dozen people who couldn't show up here today currently on line three. Thank you all for coming."

And they went back to Carla's office.


	31. Chapter 31

_My Enemy, My Ally_, is probably the best Kirk-era _Star Trek_ novel ever written. If you have any interest in _Star Trek_ novels, and you ever see a copy of this one, snap it up. You won't be disappointed.

Disclaimer: Joss owns Faith; Glenn owns Daria, Rita, and Amy; I own Lynette, Bonita, and Carla.

X X X X X

Daria spent the next couple of hours in the library. Around 12:50 a guard had come in, looked around, asked the librarian if there were any radios or TVs around -- the man clearly did not understand the concept of 'library' -- and had walked out.

There were three other inmates using the library; they were all at individual desks. There was room for a couple of dozen more. The bookshelves lined the wall; rather clever, Daria thought, as this gave the inmates nowhere to hide, nowhere to meet in secret. You had to have permission to get up, and you had to say where you were going, and within two minutes you had to be back at your seat. This didn't allow a lot of time for browsing.

For the first half an hour or so Daria had buried herself in another practice test for the GED. Once again it was confirmed to her that she didn't need to do any studying. After getting permission, she returned the GED study book to the librarian and said she was going to go pick up something from the fiction section. After a minute or so the best thing she'd found was a twenty-year old Star Trek novel by Diane Duane, _My Enemy, My Ally_.

There were worse things she could be reading, she supposed as she walked back to her seat.

Half-paying attention to the book -- which was actually pretty good, about Kirk having to ally himself with a Romulan with whom he had only one very important thing in common-- her thoughts kept drifting back to her situation.

She'd dropped off her copy of _April 10, 1997_ as soon as she'd walked into the library. Ann Rule's book on Harbaugh's crimes had also been there, she remembered -- but even though she felt she _could_ read Ann Rule's book, given what happened when she'd read her aunt's she didn't think it was an especially good idea for her to do so.

The problem was, while Dr. Vaughn had blocked out everything she'd read, she _hadn't_ blocked out Daria's newly recovered memories of April 10, 1997. So she still remembered a man's voice saying, in a thick Boston accent, "rock beats scissors," and her mother's voice saying, "It's okay, sweetie," immediately afterwards.

And always, always always always, there were those damned words on the wall: "HAVE FAITH." Intellectually, she supposed that that was where Faith had gotten her name from.

And intellectually was where she needed to keep any self-analysis. She knew damn well she couldn't handle Faith's emotions. She was frankly amazed that Faith had been able to handle them and come out even at the level of sanity she had. Faith may have been a promiscuous multiple murderer, she may have tried to kill herself, but somehow, she'd managed to come through all of it with a certain level of sanity intact. That said a lot about her ability to handle herself.

And a lot about Daria's own inability to do the same thing. The events of this morning, and of April 10, 1997, had made that crystal clear. Daria had never had any illusions of her own indestructibility; that didn't mean she wanted counterexamples shoved in her face.

In many ways, she mused as she turned the page, she and Faith would be better off if they could find a way to integrate. But in this, at least, she had to agree with Dr. Vaughn: Their personalities were too disparate. Daria could never imagine herself as free-wheeling as Faith was; never as sexually active, never as social, never as anti-intellectual. And Faith probably had similar reservations.

Then why was she so pissed off that Faith wasn't around any more? After all, this way, likely within a month or so, she'd be free, walking the streets, and -- while the criminal record would still follow her -- still able to do most of the things she wanted to in life, with the addition of a little bit of superhuman strength.

She wasn't lying to Buffy; she couldn't turn her back on anyone in genuine trouble. But she clearly wasn't quite cut out to be a vampire Slayer.

Which was one of the reasons she was ticked off that Faith wasn't around any more, amazingly enough, but not the most important one. (It might be important to the people Faith couldn't save, or the creatures who didn't die when they should have, but still, to Daria, while she accepted the existence of vampires and the Slayer in the abstract -- William of Ockham had helped a lot with that one -- she wouldn't accept their existence as concrete until she actually saw them, or possibly killed them.)

Buffy seemed to think she could do that. Faith had seemed to think she could actually _be_ a Slayer, still. Daria was convinced otherwise.

Anyway. Another important reason was a simple one. Daria had made a promise, and it was one she'd meant to keep. Whether Faith _was_ a separate individual or not -- it made an interesting question, once she'd have loved to ponder in the abstract at some point -- Daria thought of her as such.

An individual who hadn't been under a death sentence. Who had had people who cared about her -- not many, admittedly, but as Daria pointed out, that still left Faith with more friends than Daria had ever had.

Daria didn't feel the pain of not having had friends, really, because she'd never met anyone worthy of being her friend. And she realized that sounded elitist. So be it. Daria _was _an elitist. She made no bones about it.

She still had hopes of finding someone like that, some day. Someone besides, well . . .

Faith.

Daria, of course, had long since realized that she and Faith as separate individuals wouldn't have been friends. Daria probably would have respected Faith's intelligence and, if forced to, her right hook, but that's about it.

Circumstances had dictated otherwise. She and Faith had been closer than friends, closer than relatives, closer than lovers.

And "from Daria's mind Faith hath been untimely ripp'd." She'd lost a part of who she was. And that was the final reason. For good or ill, for nearly four years Daria Morgendorffer had been Faith Lehane. And that was four years of her life she would now never get back.

That she wouldn't forgive Dr. Vaughn was a given. The question was whether she'd forgive Aunt Amy and Carla Fisk. After all, they were _going_ to do it, even if they'd never gotten the chance. Dr. Vaughn was a murderer. Aunt Amy and Carla Fisk were merely guilty of conspiracy.

She realized by this point that she'd long ago lost track of the book. She looked down and saw Kirk and the Romulan commander coming to a wary kind of understanding of each other -- that they might never be friends, but the respect they had for each other and the circumstances they were in had dictated that they at least be allies.

Seemed interesting enough, and exceptionally well-written for a _Star Trek_ novel. She kept reading.

X X X X X

As they'd left the press conference, the ADA had told Amy, "I understand why you went off on Kendrick Talbot."

"Fox News," Amy had muttered. "We Distort, You Decide."

Ms. Fisk had laughed. "I don't agree with that, but Talbot himself is a grade-a jackass." she said. "The thing is, sarcasm doesn't often translate well to small print."

"I know. But I couldn't let what he said pass. And anyway, most people are going to see it on TV or hear it on the radio."

"A lot are," Ms. Fisk said. "But enough are going to see it in print that it could cause problems."

"And," Amy'd been forced to admit. "There _are_ people stupid enough not to be able to detect sarcasm, even when it's as obvious as that. 'No one ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American people.' Still, you know why I had to respond."

"I do. But I wish we'd been able to come up with some other way of doing it. This could backfire."

"I'm not sure how," Amy had said. "It's all been handled at this point, right?"

"Right," Ms. Fisk said. "We agreed to a deal, signed legal court documents, and everything. When any hearing about Daria's competence to be released into the general public --"

"Oh, please, Ms. Fisk," Rita had said. "Released into the general public. You make her sound like a wounded dog someone's been nursing back to health."

"I'm afraid there may be some members of the general public who may indeed see her as a dog of sorts, Ms. Barksdale," Ms. Fisk had said. "One who's too dangerous to ever be let loose. We know better, and fortunately Judge Knott isn't one to pay attention to public opinion, but that doesn't mean that public opinion might not have an effect on her life once she gets out. Or our lives while we wait."

"At the moment," Amy'd said, "All we're doing is waiting. I certainly believe in planning for the worst-case scenario but right now I'm not going to panic about it until I see some evidence that it's coming true."

"A good plan," Rita had said. "Ms. Fisk, how soon can we get in to see Daria?"

"As soon as you want," the ADA had said.

They waited an hour or so for the crowds to die down, in the meantime listening to a borrowed radio, while ADA Fisk went back to her office and resumed her phone interviews. She was going to be appearing on_ Larry King Live_ that night -- evening, actually, since that show was geared for an east coast audience. No doubt immediately afterwards she'd have herself treated for laryngitis. Even for someone used to doing a lot of talking like a courtroom attorney, she'd been running her voice ragged.

The talk shows they heard seemed, at the moment, to find it more an interesting story than an indictment of the legal system. Some of the callers seemed to think it was a scam; more of them didn't. Of course, this was Los Angeles, where people tended to be liberal. How it was playing out around the country, she had no idea. She doubted Fox News would be sympathetic, but there were two things playing in their favor on the "this is all a liberal conspiracy" front. One was Dr. Vaughn's record of exposing fake insanity pleas; the other was ADA Fisk herself, who happened to be a fairly conservative Republican. (They'd had about ten minutes for relaxing small talk during their conference; and it spoke to their situation that a frank and open discussion of political issues turned out to be a relaxing conversation.)

Now she and Rita were waiting in the visitors' area of the LA County Jail for a guard to track Daria down and talk to her. It was time to tell her what had happened -- and what was going to happen.

The door opened, and a guard escorted her in. Rita gasped. "What have they done to her?"

"She looks okay to me," Amy said.

"But I mean, that outfit --"

Amy couldn't help herself; she laughed. "Rita, I doubt fashionability was one of the things they were going for when they designed the things."

"But Amy, really, didn't you know that people who think they look good feel better about themselves?"

Daria sat down. "I'm not entirely sure where this conversation started," she said with a faint grin, "But somehow it feels disturbingly familiar."

"I was complaining about your outfit," Rita said.

"Well, my Christian Dior is on loan to Winona Ryder," Daria said. "Hello, Aunt Rita. Glad you could make it."

"Sweetie, you're family," she said. "I was just so happy when I found out you were alive -- and then to find out you were here --"

"How do you think I felt?" Daria said. "I mean, at least you lived through the last four years. For me, the time between April 9, 1997 and March 29, 2001 is a complete blank."

Rita's face got uncommonly serious. "It was no time at all for you, Daria. For us it was four of the longest years of our lives."

Shaking her head, Daria said, "I'm not trying to make this into a competition. Really. Let's just say it was lousy for all of us in different ways and move on."

"We had a press conference today," Amy said.

"It was about you," Rita said.

"I actually had that figured out," Daria said. "Unless one of you somehow came up with a cure for cancer in the last two days."

"Sorry," Amy said, "I had to put that research on hold while I came here. I'm sure their chemotherapy will hold them over until I get back."

"And what did you say in the press conference?" Daria asked.

"Pretty much everything about the situation except Dr. Vaughn's removal of Faith," Amy said. "We -- the ADA, Rita and me -- covered pretty much everything from Willard Harbaugh to the present day. We may or may not have gotten to what our grandfather did for a living, but apart from that --"

"I'm surprised you haven't heard about it," Rita said, frowning slightly. "It was all over the TV and radio."

Daria seemed to be on the verge of making another smartass remark, stopped, and said, "Hmm. That explains why the guards were running around the prison turning the radios off. Warden Juarez must have been trying to protect me." She smiled faintly. "Damn decent of her, under the circumstances."

"What circumstances?"

"Never mind," Daria said firmly. Now, I'm sure you didn't come here just to update me on your daily activities."

"No," Amy said. "We came to tell you what we have planned for your recovery."

A cold look settled over Daria's features. "Dictate away, _mein commandant."_

X X X X X

". . . no, they didn't so much as hint at the vampire issue," the man said over the phone. "Apparently the training held well enough that she didn't talk about it."

"More likely she felt that it would only cement the case for her insanity, and no doubt 'Daria Morgendorffer' wants to get out of prison as soon as possible."

"You want us to do a smash and grab when they're transferring her from the prison to hospital?" the man asked.

"No. There has been far too much publicity over the case. The last thing we need is a manhunt. And if what you report about Ms. Barksdale's intentions is accurate -- that she intends to have the Faith persona erased -- then Faith has completely ceased to be useful to us. Send in the specialist. We'll rescue her later, if need be, after she completes the task and kills Ms. Morgendorffer. With any luck, the next Slayer will be far more tractable."

"Certainly, Mr. Travers. Right away."


	32. Chapter 32

Disclaimer: Mrs. Krueger, Martin Niblick, and Cameron Kim are mine. The _Buffy_ characters are Joss Whedon's. The _Daria_ characters are Glenn Eichler's.

X X X X X

"You really don't have to be mean about it, Daria," Amy Barksdale said.

"Of course I do," Daria said. "And whether or not I 'have to,' I sure as hell have the right. Just because Dr. Vaughn erased Faith before you got around to it doesn't make you any less in the wrong. It's like two hit men both being assigned to kill the same person. Just because one gets there first doesn't mean the second one wasn't just as ready to commit murder."

"Really, Daria," Rita said. "This is hardly a case of murder."

"Faith was alive. Now she's dead. If that's not murder, I don't know what is."

Amy sighed. "I've had this argument before. With y-- with Faith's friend Angel."

"You should have listened to him."

X X X X X

"Well, I have to say," she said, "This is going to be one of my more unusual assassinations."

"How so, Mrs. Krueger?" the man asked. She didn't like him. He paid well, but he was unimaginative, dull, and for someone who belonged to a group that required such specialized knowledge, he was kind of stupid.

"Because," she explained patiently, "This kind ofthing usually runs the other way around. People want to break out of prisons, not into them."

"Ah," he said. "I trust this won't be a problem, though."

"Of course not," she said. "It'll be interesting to see whether I can pull this out without getting caught."

"Your abilities --"

"My abilities will help me get in and out. But I can't use them as I'm actually killing her. I might scare the shit out of her, but that's about it."

"Can't you simply grab her heart or something?"

Mrs. Krueger practically rolled her eyes. Not only was her contact an idiot, he'd read too many comic books as a child. "Dematerialization is dematerialization," she said. "I'm either completely in phase with the world, or completely out. If I rematerialize inside something --" she used her left hand to point to her right one, which was mechanical. Hadn't been, until the first and only time she'd misjudged, ever so slightly, where she was going to come out of a wall. It was at that point she'd decided to seriously up her price. One mistake, five years ago, had cost her a hand. If she was going to be risking her life, she was going to be doing it for _serious_ coin.

The only thing the mechanical hand had given her was a hell of a nickname. Krueger was hardly her real name, but a metallic right hand and a penchant for killing her targets as they slept had proven irresistible.

The council paid well for her services; she wasn't exclusive to them by any means, but their jobs came before anything else in her life. And so when their local representative had called at a bit past 2:30 in the afternoon, she'd dropped everything she was doing, gotten her husband to pick up the kids from school, and gotten to the meeting place as fast as she could.

And now she had the pictures of her target, her name, her location, and a rough idea of when the Council wanted the job done.

"Ah. I understand," her contact said, obviously not but not being particularly interested in carrying on the conversation any further.

"The standard deal. $10,000 in cash; another $40,000 has already been deposited to your account in the Caymans. The balance will be paid upon hearing of your successful completion of the mission. Should you be caught, of course, the balance is forfeit."

"Of course," Mrs. Krueger said impatiently. She knew that already. If she got caught, she already had plans in place. It wasn't like any jail could hold her anyway.

He handed her the envelope; she nodded, stood up, and walked away.

X X X X X

"Anyway," Daria finally said. "That's all in the past. And until someone invents a practical time machine, it's going to stay there."

"Note to self: Cancel development of time machine," Amy said. Daria just glared. "Anyway, while we're on the outside dealing with the press and people who think that you're a liar, Dr. Vaughn's a moron, the DA is lazy and we're conniving to get a murderer out on the streets, your part in all this is simple."

"If it's so simple," Daria said acidly, "Let's say you do the part where you're strapped down for three weeks in a mental institution while people stick enough drugs in you to stock a city's worth of Rite Aids, and I'll do the part where I get to make smart remarks to reporters."

"Daria," Amy said, sounding almost offended. "We'd never do that to you." After a pause, "We _do _need to make sure that Dr. Vaughn removed all traces of Faith from you. But that should only take a few visits. None of which should require drugs or strapping you down."

"That's what you think."

X X X X X

Martin Niblick watched the Watcher's Council representative hand an envelope to the good-looking redhead; sure, the woman was about forty -- fifteen years older than Martin -- and seemed to be missing a hand, but he would have had no trouble going to bed with her.

Of course, the woman wouldn't have gone to bed with him, what with his vestigial horns and tail. Easy enough to cover up in public, but it made sleeping with women a bit of a chore. Martin was half Visula demon on his mother's side; female Visulas didn't have horns or tails, so that hadn't been an issue for Mom.

What his demonic heritage took away from him in terms of sex life, though, it made up for in terms of ability. Visulas could make themselves invisible. Martin couldn't quite do that; he had what he called a talent for "peripheral invisibility." (He'd picked up the phrase from, of all things, _The Official Handbook of the Marvel Universe_, in a description of a minor villain called "Manslaughter.) When he concentrated, Martin couldn't be seen unless someone looked directly at him. Anyone looking around a park wouldn't notice him, and he was invisible to "the corner of their eye." Didn't work with mirrors, for some reason, but it did work with cameras.

Made him useful for surveillance. So when Lilah Morgan had called and said they wanted him to keep an eye on a Jeffrey Dunwitty, British citizen living in Los Angeles, he didn't ask why; he just did what he was told. Report anything unusual, he'd been told. He doubted the man's preference for dipping his French fries in steak sauce qualified, but meeting a one-handed redhead in a city park and passing along a sealed envelope certainly did.

So he put down his binoculars and picked up his cell phone.

"Lilah Morgan speaking."

"Ms. Morgan? Martin Niblick, surveillance. Dunwitty's done something worth reporting." He explained what he'd seen.

"Give that description again," she said when he was done. He did so. "Hold on a second." When Ms. Morgan got back to the phone a minute later, she sounded uncharacteristically happy. "Good work, Niblick. That's exactly what we wanted."

"Do you want me to follow her?"

"No. We know who her target's going to be. Come in for your next assignment."

"Yes, Ms. Morgan."

He hung up the phone, risked one more look at the woman -- _nice_ legs -- and headed for his car.

X X X X X

Lilah Morgan hung up the phone -- Niblick was worth every penny Wolfram & Hart paid him -- and let out a low whistle. When the Watcher's Council seriously wanted someone dead, they didn't mess around. The mechanical right hand and the bright red hair made the identification unmistakable.

Mrs. Krueger was one of the best assassins for hire around who wasn't associated with the Order of Taraka. (They wouldn't do business with Wolfram & Hart. Something about a broken contract back in the 1970s. It had apparently been a fierce battle between the two sides, leading to dozens of deaths, until they'd finally come to terms and agreed to stay out of each other's business from then on.)

Wolfram & Hart had hired her themselves a few times, whenever they couldn't risk something being traces back to them for any reason. And they might need her in the future, which is why she hadn't had Niblick follow her back to her house so W&H could kill her themselves tonight.

That meant that Wolfram & Hart would have to get someone inside the prison to protect Faith. Niblick was out. He was male, and couldn't fight off an angry cat.

Of course, Mrs. Krueger herself would have been ideal, but she was already spoken for. And Lilah knew better than to simply try to hire her out from under the Council. Mrs. Krueger had an annoying sense of honor. Once she was bought, she stayed bought.

Wolfram & Hart had a lot of operatives at its disposal, plus several hundred they could hire. She called up a list on her computer and rapidly removed all of those who were:

Too badly injured to do the job.

Permanently male.

Specialists in lethal combat. (Not only did Wolfram & Hart not want to kill Mrs. Krueger if they could avoid it, they didn't want to kill anyone else either. Oh, no one would miss a prisoner or two, but the authorities tended to frown when you started murdering prison guards.)

Possessed of spectacularly showy powers, whether they had the abilities to get the job done or not.

Already on assignment.

Too pricey. (The Watcher's Council might have an unlimited budget; Wolfram & Hart was interesting in preserving the life of Daria Morgendorffer, but if Lilah spent too much doing it she'd be called on the carpet. Or possibly made part of it.)

Then she found the perfect operative.

Cameron Kim.

X X X X X

"No, Aunt Amy, Aunt Rita. I get that you're doing all of this 'for my own good.' It's what's keeping me angry rather than homicidal. I give marginal credit for good intentions."

"Daria," Amy said, "Your choices were to be incarcerated with Faith, or free without her."

"I think there was a middle ground in there. No one else wanted to find it."

"Sweetie," Rita said, "I just don't get your attachment to this girl. Look what she did."

"No," Daria said, "You don't. She's part of me." She sighed. "Let me try it another way. Imagine you were lobotomized. Again."

X X X X X

Cameron Kim specialized in stealth jobs for Wolfram & Hart, but even this was a bit outside her normal line of work. So far she'd broken into government offices, other law firms, Frederick's of Hollywood, and once, just for the hell of it, the offices where they were counting the ballots for the Academy awards. (She resisted the temptation to fool around with the votes, but she _did_ make some money betting on the winners in Vegas that year.)

She had never before broken into a prison. Women's or men's.

"So you're saying," she said to Lilah Morgan, "That I'm to somehow make my way into the LA County Jail, go to the cell where this Faith Lehane is stashed, and wait around for this Mrs. Krueger to make her move?"

"Right. Make a lot of noise. That'll draw some attention and Mrs. Krueger doesn't operate well with a lot of attention."

"Neither do I," Cameron said.

"Yes, but all she can do is run," Lilah said. "You can use your skills to blend into the crowd."

"And what, stay in jail?"

"Then you'd better make sure that doesn't happen. And remember. Your pay is halved for the week if Mrs. Krueger is killed. And if Lehane is killed, then you're better off staying in prison."

"So the usual."

"Pretty much." Cameron knew better to complain. She wasn't worried if it came down to a battle. Cameron wasn't a combat specialist, but she knew enough to get by. That plus her talent for shapechanging was enough to get her through most fights.

If she could have changed shape into anything, she could have named her own price. But she was limited to creatures of her own size and weight. No flying unless she turned herself into a pteranodon, and those were kind of noticeable. No mice; no elephants. Still let her change herself into anything or anyone weighing 120 pounds.

Figuring out how to get into the jail was going to be interesting. Not a challenge, really; but definitely interesting.

X X X X X

"So, when's my first appointment?" Daria asked resignedly.

"Tomorrow," Amy said.

"And do you have the four pro wrestlers lined up it's going to take to get me there?"

"I was hoping you'd be cooperative."

"I'm not going to do anything to get myself shot," Daria said. "Beyond that, I'll be damned if I'm going to be cooperative about anything. Get this straight, Aunt Amy, Aunt Rita. I don't like the situation, I don't like being _forced_ to do anything, I don't like being treated legally as though I'm not competent to make my own decisions, and right now, I don't like the two of you very much either. So if whatever specialists you're arranging me to make visits to don't have a lot of happy juice to stick into me, I'd advise you to tell them to lay in a supply. Because it looks like I'm going to be going there a while."

"This is cutting off your nose to spite your face, Daria," Rita said.

"You say that as though it were a bad thing," was Daria's reply.

"Think about it, Daria," Amy said as she stood up. "I hope you'll change your mind. We really do want you to be out of here. Because whether you stay in here or leave, Faith's gone. And she's not coming back." She nodded to Daria. "Rita, come on."

"It was good seeing you, Daria," Rita said. "Sorry about the circumstances."

And they left.


	33. Chapter 33

Disclaimer: The _Buffy_ characters are owned by Joss Whedon; the _Daria_ characters are owned by Glenn Eichler; everyone else is owned by me.

X X X X X

After the press conference, Carla Fisk, after parting ways with the Barksdale sisters, took the slow way back to her office, then began methodically going through her messages.

There were 20.

The messages trailed off after the press conference started, but they didn't stop entirely. She marked some down as "don't bother," a handful as, "call back as soon as possible," and two for "return now."

The first was to the District Attorney. "I'm surprised you didn't stop by my office," she said as after they got the pleasantries out of the way.

"Are you kidding? You might be tempted to hand me the phone."

"So what did you think of the press conference, sir?"

"I think you handled yourself as well as you could have. I was surprised to see the Barksdales there, though."

"I figured that we might as well get our stories straight, and since they were here anyway, we may as well hold the conference together."

"Well, it worked until Amy Barksdale smarted off on Kendrick Talbot there at the end," he said.

"I told them as much. Honestly, though, sir, while it might not have been politically the most astute thing in the world, I can hardly blame her. Talbot's an ass."

"Careful there, Carla; the Republican party might drum you out if they heard you say that."

"I'm a registered independent, sir," she said. From some people this might come across as harassment, but not from the DA. He didn't care what your politics were as long as you did your job and didn't embarrass him or the office. "Besides, Talbot's the kind of person who gives honest conservatives a bad name."

"Oh, I agree with your assessment of his personality," the DA said. "I might even be tempted to express it more pungently at times. That still doesn't mean it was smart. It could backfire."

"I'm keeping an eye on the situation," Carla said. "In the meantime, it didn't seem to bother any of the other reporters and none of the messages I've gotten since then have mentioned it -- and one of them is from another reporter from Fox News."

"Call them first."

"I need to hash out when and where my appearance on _Larry King Live_ is going to be from. I'll call them as soon as we get that settled."

"Good. And so far, Carla . . ."

"Yes?'

"Good job." He hung up.

She sighed, sipped from a bottle of spring water, and called the woman from CNN.

X X X X X

Amy sighed as she and Rita drove away from the prison. She hadn't meant to come off like such a cold bitch to Daria at the end. Here she was, fully aware of the moral ambiguity of the situation, and she went off on Daria as though she'd been handed her treatment plan from God on high.

A while back she'd said that she didn't care if Daria appreciated what Amy was doing, as long as it ended up freeing her. She'd meant it then.

Which was a good thing, because it seemed to be coming true.

Amy never knew Daria had such rage in her.

But part of her obviously did want Daria to be happy she was doing what she was doing. To be happy that she'd be getting out of prison eventually, no matter that it cost her a part of her personality.

And that part of her was clearly doomed to be disappointed.

She'd have to live with it. That Daria would be getting out -- presuming that Amy's last salvo hadn't in fact solidified Daria's determination -- would have to do for the moment.

It was time for her to face the truth. She loved her niece. Nothing would _ever_ make Amy unhappy that she was back. If Daria got out of prison, spat in Amy's face, and walked away from her, Amy would still, on balance, be happy.

But she didn't understand her. Despite their similarities and shared fondness for sarcasm as a method of dealing with the idiots of the world, that much was obvious. Because she _could not_ get why Faith was so important to Daria.

Absolutely, positively, could not get it. Faith had been unintellectual; she'd been a career criminal, nasty, violent, bad-tempered, and sexually profligate. There was nothing she and Daria had in common except the body they shared -- and, remembering what Dr. Vaughn had said, a mutual desire to hold the world at arm's length. But that was it.

Amy had tried. She would continue to try. She would probably continue to try until the day she died, or the day Daria talked to her willingly again.

But she had serious doubts whether she would succeed.

X X X X X

Lynette Vaughn, Angel, and the other two people who worked for Angel Investigations -- she knew there was a story behind how the firm would be named for Angel given he wasn't the boss, but from the way these people interacted she doubted she'd get it even at gunpoint if they weren't ready to spill -- listened to the press conference in the room Angel gave Lynette. Despite the general nosiness of Angel's co-workers, she wasn't going to be churlish enough to throw them out of her room. Besides, they seemed nice, and concerned with Faith's welfare. The younger woman -- Cordelia, Lynette thought her name was -- let out a low boo when Carla Fisk had been introduced, and another one when Amy Barksdale began to answer questions.

Rita Barksdale didn't bring out any negative emotions, not in Lynette or anyone else, though from the tenor of her statement she fully agreed with what her sister and Ms. Fisk were doing.

It was impossible to hate either woman, though; at least, it was impossible for Lynette to hate them. They weren't doing this out of ego, or a desire to enrich themselves; hell, by arranging Daria's release, Carla Fisk was taking a tremendous risk with her career. Even if everything went smoothly there would always be people from now on who viewed her as "the bleeding-heart who let out a murderer," no matter the DA's personal politics and the facts of the situation.

They were acting selflessly. They were not, for the most part, thinking about themselves. They thought they were doing the right thing.

But, as she quoted during the weekend discussion with Bonnie, Amy Barksdale and Carla Fisk, "In all mankind's history, there's never been more damage done than by people who thought they were doing the right thing."

Charles Schulz had been a much wiser man than he was usually given credit for.

They all applauded, metaphorically at least, when Amy Barksdale read the riot act to Kendrick Talbot.

After that, they listened to the rest in silence, and then, at a not-so-subtle glance from Angel, Wesley and Cordelia left the room, though the glances they shot back in return clearly indicated that they weren't done with the topic.

"What do they know?" Lynette asked as soon as Wesley and Cordelia were well clear of the area.

"Nothing I've told them," Angel said. "They're smart, though. Wes is a genius in several areas, and though Cordelia can come across at times as thoughtless, she's no dummy either." He sat down in a chair. "Could they swear in a court of law that they knew what you did? No. But have they jumped to that conclusion themselves? Wes certainly has, and if Cordy hasn't she's not far behind."

"Can they be trusted?"

"Absolutely," Angel said without a moment's hesitation. "They won't mention this to anyone. Probably not even Gunn."

"Gunn?'

"Charles Gunn. Another staffer. He puts in irregular hours like the rest of us. But unlike Cordy and Wes, he never met Faith. So the situation wouldn't mean much to him anyway." He paused. "I'm still not going to give them the details, though."

"I appreciate that," Lynette said. "It's not that I don't believe you when you say you can trust them, but --"

"You're walking an extremely thin line here," Angel said. "I get that. The fewer people who know that Faith's still buried inside Daria, the better." He frowned. "One thing I don't get. I've got the trigger phrases memorized -- but how sure are you that Daria will come to me once she gets out? She's never even _met_ me."

Lynette smiled. "Trained hypnotist, remember? Post-hypnotic suggestion. It'll be the first thing she does."

"And how will she recognize me? Anyone can _claim_ to be me."

"Because the posthypnotic suggestion included a detailed description of you. And, most importantly, you'll be the only one with the right trigger phrase," Lynette said. "There's no chance anyone else could luck into it. Faith said it was something that was special to the two of you."

Angel smiled. "That it was."

"'That guy always bugged me.' Care to explain the reference?"

"It refers to a mutual . . . friend," Angel said. "At one point I hit him in the face because I was trying to fool Faith about something. This was back when she was working for the mayor of Sunnydale."

"Ah. Wilkins." She said the name as though it were a cuss word. As far as she was concerned, it was. Richard Wilkins had offered Faith a love and acceptance she'd been seeking for a long time -- and used it to further corrupt her. Faith was still convinced, to this day, that the man's love had been genuine, in a way. Lynette didn't doubt it. If it had been phony, it would have been a lot easier for Faith to break free of it than it had been.

She didn't know whether Wilkins thought he was doing the right thing. He apparently thought he was doing the right thing by Faith. The damage had been nearly irreparable.

"Yeah. The man did more to ruin her life, I think, than anyone else could have. A poor substitute for the father she never remembered."

"From what I've seen of the records, Jake Morgendorffer was no saint -- but he wasn't a bastard. He had a quick temper but never even came close to taking it out on the people around him. And Daria clearly misses him, no matter his comparatively trivial imperfections." She grimaced. "Compared to Richard Wilkins, Jake Morgendorffer was Ward Cleaver."

Angel said, "And knowing what happened to Daria puts her fixation on Wilkins into a whole new light. She wasn't seeking to replace parents who'd abandoned her; she was seeking to replace parents that had been completely ripped from her life. Even if she didn't realize it."

Lynette was impressed. "You have a good grasp of human psychology."

"Comes in handy for the job."

"I can see how it would," she said. Then, after a second, "There's something else I need to ask you about."

"What?"

"Warden Juarez called me to the prison this morning. Daria was busy destroying her cell in what I can only describe as a bizarre extended fit of rage. She'd read her aunt's book in a conscious effort to bring Faith back -- and it left her trying to deal with emotions she absolutely could not handle. Rage, anger, anguish -- all far too strong for her. Oddly, though, she was able to keep enough to control to not hurt anyone else. She actually punched her cell so often and so hard that she damaged it -- but she wouldn't let anyone else in the cell with her. She refused to hurt anyone else. She actually told Warden Juarez she might be better off shooting her with a tranquilizer than putting any guards at risk."

"And you went in and hypnotized her to forget what she'd learned from the book?" Angel asked.

"I actually told her the truth -- that this had all been a plan of hers, and mine, and Faith's. I made her forget it again, though. The hypnosis was enough to drain her rage." Lynette shook her head. "What I can't believe is how she was destroying the wall. She tried to claim it was some kind of adrenaline fit, and that's the explanation I passed on to the warden, but it is physically impossible for an adrenaline rush to last for three hours. If her body produced enough adrenaline for that, then she'd certainly be showing other symptoms at other times. But she doesn't. Faith doesn't, and Daria doesn't."

"You don't specialize in that kind of medicine, Dr. Vaughn," Angel said. "Are you certain that no disorder could cause that?"

"I'm sure," Lynette said. "Just like I'm also sure that the construction of the cells isn't flimsy. That's the excuse I heard being bandied about at the prison. If you locked Mike Tyson in there at the peak of his career and told him to go to town, he wouldn't have been able to put that kind of dent into the walls."

"I don't think --" Angel said, shifting uneasily.

"And then there's something else. When I asked Daria how she was damaging the cell, I made it very clear to her that I wasn't buying her adrenaline explanation. She told me, and I quote, that what was going on 'wasn't her secret to give.' She wouldn't even tell me under hypnosis. Obviously, she meant it was Faith's secret. And I was wondering. Do you know the secret? Because I know there is one. Somehow, Daria is stronger than any human being of her weight and build has any right to be." When Angel didn't say anything, Lynette repeated, "Do you know the secret?"

Angel sighed. "It's not my secret to give either."

Lynette said, "I've given you my secret. If you wanted to, you could destroy my career; I think that's earned me a little trust."

"I don't think you'd believe me."

Laughing in disbelief, Lynette said, "I've hypnotized a patient into believing that I've done something heinous to her, with her consent and the consent of her other personality, all to preserve the other personality's existence against the wishes, apparently, of nearly every other human being on the planet. I don't think whatever you have to say could match that."

"You'd be surprised," Angel said. "But you're right. You've earned it. Just don't say I didn't warn you."


	34. Chapter 34

Author's Note: I jump back and forth a bit in time in this part. The Angel/Lynette Vaughn sequences are still in mid-afternoon on April 10, 2001. The other parts are set later in the day.

Disclaimer: _Daria, Buffy_ and original characters belong to Glenn Eichler, Joss Whedon, and me, respectively.

X X X X X

Mrs. Krueger told her husband, "You're on your own tonight," later that evening, while the children were busy doing their homework.

"Another assignment?"

"Yes." He knew what she did for a living; he didn't know the details. Partly, he didn't like to think about that part of her life; partly, it was practical, so if anyone caught him he couldn't spill secrets.

"How long will you be gone?"

"It should be a one-night job. The target's right here in Los Angeles."

"Got it." After a second, "So what do we tell the kids this time?"

"Tell them Great-Aunt Rachel is sick again and I needed to sit up with her," she said. Mrs. Krueger didn't actually have a great-aunt Rachel; whenever the kids asked about her, she told them that "Aunt Rachel is too sick to handle visitors." It had worked so far.

"Okay. Just one thing."

"Yes?" she asked, knowing exactly what he was going to say.

"When are you going to have enough? You've been doing this for twenty years now. Isn't it time to retire?"

"And do what? Be a full-time housewife and soccer mom? I love you, I love the kids, but most of the rest of that bores the hell out of me, and you know it."

"I know," he sighed.

"Okay. I'll be back by tomorrow morning. If I'm not --"

"Don't say it," he said.

"If I'm not, you know where to find the account information. You and the kids will be well taken care of." She leaned over and kissed him. "See you tomorrow."

X X X X X

"Well?" Lynette Vaughn said.

Angel laughed. "I've heard this done so many times, you'd think I'd be able to do it myself by now. But I'm not really built for scholarly lectures like Giles is. So I'm going to try a different tactic."

"Okay . . ." Lynette said, unsure where Angel was going with this.

"I'm going to ask you to do something very simple now. You may wonder why. Save the questions until you do it, okay?"

"Okay."

"Come take my pulse."

How would that tell her what Faith's secret was? She almost asked, but bit her tongue. Angel must have some reason for making the bizarre request, even though Lynette couldn't figure out why.

She noticed that his skin was cool to the touch when she reached for his left wrist. Vaguely, she recalled thinking the same thing when she'd shaken his hand back in Carla Fisk's office. At the time she'd been preoccupied with other things. Now . . .

Hmmm. Odd. After thirty seconds, she couldn't find a pulse. Reaching for his right wrist, she quickly came to the same conclusion. Then she felt Angel's temples, first the right, then the left. She still couldn't find one.

"Would you lift your shirt?" she asked clinically.

With an amused tone in his voice, Angel said, "I thought you'd never ask," and proceeded to do just that. Lynette placed her hand over his heart, changed its position several times, and still couldn't find a heartbeat. She stepped back and looked at Angel's chest. Her first inclination was that he simply had a very weak heartbeat -- but no one with a heartrate that weak could have the muscles that Angel did. Not that he was a bodybuilder, but he wasn't flabby and completely undefined, either.

"Maybe if I had a stethoscope --" she began.

"May I?" he said, pointing to his shirt. When Lynette told him to go ahead, he put it back on. As his head came through the collar he said, "A stethoscope wouldn't help you. Neither would the most expensive and well-designed heart-rate monitor on the planet."

Lynette reached the obvious conclusion. "Because your heart's not beating," she said.

"Exactly."

"By the standards of medical science," she said, "This is impossible." When Angel began to say something, she held up a hand. "No. Therefore, you are not subject to the standards of medical science. So, then. What, or who, are you?"

Angel was a bit taken aback. "I'm a bit surprised by your attitude," he said.

"What, you were expecting me to run away, screaming for help at the top of my lungs?"

"Something like that," Angel finally conceded.

It was Lynette's turn to laugh. "When the impossible has been eliminated, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. If it was good enough for Sherlock Holmes, it's good enough for me. And if someone looks like a man, but has skin that's roughly room temperature and no measurable pulse, then they must not _be_ a man. And you're sure as hell no robot or cyborg, unless that technology is much further along than anything I've seen in the news. I doubt the Terminator would be that advanced. So you're alive by some standard, just not the standards of medical science, which apply to humans/"

"And animals."

"I'm not a veterinarian, Angel," Lynette said, "And you're hardly a Pomeranian. So, what are you? And how does this relate to Faith's secret?"

X X X X X

Cameron Kim scouted the LA County Women's Jail as best she could, without risking being hassled by the guards. She drove up to the front gate in a rented car -- now with blonde hair and green eyes instead of her natural black and brown -- and looked around for a few minutes, When a guard came up to tell her to move along, she apologized, saying she'd gotten bad directions and had been looking for the _men's _prisonThe guard gave her a new set of directions, which she promptly ignored.

Cameron drove to the nearest convenient shopping center, parked, and walked away from the car. When she was sure no one was looking, she changed into a medium-sized dog and ran back towards the jail. When she got there, she ran around the outside for a while, until the inmates started pointing out the mutt. Some of them called to Cameron; not knowing whether they were going to throw rocks at her or act friendly, she ran off, made it back to the shopping center, and went to the Long John Silver in the parking lot.

As she ate her fried fish, he thought of the ways she could get in. The mesh of the fence was too narrow for her to go anaconda. Flying in could be done once it got dark, unless of course some trigger-happy guard looked up and saw the thing flying overhead with the wingspan of a 737. Not unless she had no other alternative.

Disguise herself as an inmate and get "recaptured?" They'd never recognize her, and that would make them suspicious. Go in as a guard? That might require going through some kind of security check. She'd have to do it once she got inside -- neither inmates nor wolves typically roamed the halls of a prison -- but until she got inside, probably not a good idea.

She could probably scale the fence, if she waited for the right moment -- prisons were built for people to be hard to break out of. No one anticipated animals breaking in.

For good reason, Cameron thought. It was crazy.

Which is what made it fun.

As she threw out her trash and walked out of the restaurant, she looked up at the sky. A couple more hours to kill.

Then she had to hope no one noticed the orangutan.

X X X X X

"Do you promise not to run and scream?" Angel asked.

"Unless you threaten to throw me out the window, sure," Dr. Vaughn said.

Angel said, "Okay then," and put his game face on.

Dr. Vaughn took a half step backwards and let out a small gasp. But, true to her word, she didn't run and she didn't scream. "Are those . . . fangs?" she asked after a few seconds.

"They are," Angel said.

"I hate to ask, but may I touch your face? I want to be sure I'm not hallucinating."

"Sure," Angel said. He was amazed how well Dr. Vaughn was taking this.

She walked over and ran her hands over his face, then touched both of his fangs. "Are they hollow?" she asked finally.

"No. They're used for . . . tearing the flesh." After a pause, he asked, "So you've figured out what I am?"

"Fangs, cold skin, no pulse -- you're either a vampire or an excellent facsimile of one."

"Vampire," Angel said. "And the first thing I need to say is: If you see anyone else who can change their face like this, run. I'm trustworthy. None of the rest of my kind are. I'd explain why but it's a long story."

"Got it," Dr. Vaughn said.

"Now can I ask you a question?"

"Go ahead."

"Again, why are you taking this so well? I'm fairly sure you didn't believe in vampires when you came in here, and almost everyone else I've ever seen who's been exposed this world has either freaked out or gone to extreme lengths to deny what they've obviously seen. Down in Sunnydale, the police still think there's a serial killer going around attacking people with barbecue forks."

"For all that medicine is an art and not a science -- especially psychiatry, which some people think is pure quackery -- I've always thought of myself as a scientist. And what kind of scientist would I be if I denied what was right in front of me?"

"And you're not worried I'm going to attack you and drink your blood?"

"Why should I be? You've had plenty of chances. If you were going to do that, you would have done it already." After a second, "But just in case I run into any more of your kind --"

"Run," Angel reiterated. "Walk. Fly. Swim. Get the hell away. Don't fight us."

"I can take care of myself," Dr. Vaughn insisted.

"Against humans, sure. But against those like me?" Angel rushed across the room. Dr. Vaughn kicked his kneecap, hard; Angel winced -- it was a solid blow -- but kept coming. She ducked, but Angel grabbed her as she tried to get past him. Then he picked her up and held her against the wall. "It's not that easy."

He placed her gently down on the floor. "I think I get it," she said. "And Faith -- Daria -- she's like you?"

"No," Angel said. "She _kills_ those like me."

X X X X X

The rest of Daria's day was as smooth as it could have been, under the circumstances. It seemed like it had been a month since she'd woken herself up from her "training" with Buffy and began reading _April 10, 1997_ by the dim light coming in through her cell door.

Her aunt was right that Faith was gone forever either way. Still, some show of resistance was in order. That Aunt Amy had cooperated on a scheme to have her declared incompetent was monstrous -- particularly because Aunt Amy had made it clear that she in no way actually thought Daria was incompetent.

ADA Fisk, she wasn't quite as mad at. It's not like she'd shake hands with the woman or anything, but she wouldn't shove her in front of a speeding bus the next time she saw her. Maybe a moped.

After all, the ADA could legitimately use the argument that she was trying to do right by the greatest number of people. That didn't make it any more right, or any less cynical of a maneuver; but the ADA, by her lights, was bending over backwards to _help_ Daria. There were politicians who would have shoved her and Faith into a back room somewhere and then bricked over the door.

Aunt Amy shouldn't have been thinking about anyone else. She should have been doing what Daria wanted. Not what she _thought_ was best for Daria.

Daria_ loathed_ other people doing what they thought was best for her without any regard for her own wishes. She'd put up with it from her parents, some of the time. She put up with jail now because she had no choice. Beyond that? No.

Besides, those people usually got it wrong.

So eventually she'd grit her teeth, let the psychiatrist poke and prod her, and get out of jail.

But for now, she was going to be a bitch about it.

"Lights out!" the call came.

Daria closed her eyes and tried to go to sleep.

X X X X X

Angel went on, "Faith's what they call The Slayer. The Slayer is a long line of girls given superhuman strength to kill vampires, demons, and other supernatural beings."

"Werewolves? Zombies?"

"And other things you've never heard of unless you're an occult scholar who's spent the last fifty years buried inside a library. Faith, though -- Faith came into this with a whole host of mental problems. Even more than I thought at the time. Eventually those problems led to her killing the Deputy Mayor and going to work for Wilkins -- who was more than a garden-variety corrupt politician. I'll tell you the whole story when you have a spare two weeks. Let's just settle for now for saying that he was as supernatural as Faith and I are, in his own way. And the reason this is a problem for Daria is, _Daria_ never knew she was supposed to be a vampire Slayer. So I'm betting that to her, she isn't. And that's the kind of thing that can get her killed."

"Killed?" Lynette asked.

"Faith's old enemies. Other things who might want the glory of killing a vampire slayer. The Watcher's Council itself -- who are supposed to be the people _watching out_ for Faith and Daria -- but who might decide that the idea of Daria being in control of a Slayer body that she's not planning on using for the next sixty years or so is a bad one. The Slayer line passes through Daria now, and until she dies another one isn't going to be called. So they might simply decide to kill her instead."

What had she gotten Daria into? "Oh, my God."

"Don't blame yourself, Doctor," Angel said. "You were doing the best you could with the information you had available at the time. I would have made the same decision even knowing what I know now."

"You would have?"

"Yes. Daria would have been in danger either way. This way she has a chance to eventually be out of jail -- and Faith has the chance to come out with her, able to protect her. And there's nothing saying Daria can't be trained. With her intellect and Faith's experience, they'll be hard to kill." He looked at her. "You wanted to know the secret. Now that you know, what are you planning to do with it?"

"Keep it," came her automatic answer. First off, Angel was still keeping her secret; secondly, no one would believe her even if she was inclined to talk. The first was more important, to Lynette.

"Good. Now, what else are you planning to do with it?"

"What else can I do? I'm already set on this course for Daria and Faith. I can't break it now," Lynette said. "Given that, I suppose you'd better tell me as much about this world I seem to have gotten myself into as you can."

Angel nodded. "Okay, then. But we might want to get Cordelia and Wesley in on this part. They know a lot about it, too -- and they can spell me when I get tired."

Lynette nodded, and they left the room and went down to the lobby.


	35. Chapter 35

Author's Note: The echo wouldn't know that.

Disclaimer: Buffy, Wesley, Angel, Cordelia and Faith belong to Joss Whedon. Daria Morgendorffer belongs to Glenn Eichler. Lynette Vaughn, Carla Fisk, and Kal Endicott are mine.

X X X X X

Wesley couldn't have been more startled had Angel descended into the Hyperion lobby dancing the can-can while dressed like Carmen Miranda. They let people into the secret that the supernatural existed only under extreme provocation; he couldn't imagine what provocation Dr. Vaughn might have provided to get Angel to make the revelation. So, while Cordelia and the good doctor busied themselves with small talk, he pulled Angel aside.

"I assume you have a good reason for this?" he asked.

"She isn't stupid, Wes. This morning Daria, in a fit of rage, started pounding her cell walls so hard that she was beginning to damage them. Dr. Vaughn had already figured out that 'a fit of adrenaline' -- the fairly inventive excuse Daria came up with -- couldn't possible be right, and pointed out that she'd shared a monumental secret with me and that I owed her one in return."

"You could have told her no."

Angel shook his head. "That wouldn't have been fair. And remember, she was more than halfway there already."

"I wouldn't say she was that far along," Wesley said. "Still, there's no way of putting that mushroom cloud back in that nice shiny uranium sphere, as Dr. Asimov once said. What'd done is done. So. Did you show her your vampiric face?"

"Yes. And you'll notice she did not react by frantically throwing open the door and running screaming out into the street. She still has a lot to learn, but she understands this and she seems willing to do so."

"Well, since you make so free with _our_ secrets --"

Angel grinned. "Nice try, Wes. This was an exchange between me and the doctor. You can still try to persuade her to tell you, but I'm still not going to."

"Is there anything I shouldn't talk about?"

"Faith's backstory. That's still not ours to give, except for the fact of her actually being a vampire slayer. In any event, she doesn't seem interested in hearing our thrilling exploits, but the nuts and bolts of the supernatural. We might want to liven it up with anecdotes now and then, but otherwise? I'd think whatever she wants to know, we tell her."

Wesley said, "I suppose I could continue to make an issue about this, but at this juncture that would seem churlish."

"Are you ready, then?" Wesley nodded his head, and they rejoined Cordelia and Dr. Vaughn. "Well then," he said. "A primer of supernatural beasts. Dr. Vaughn, tell me: what would you like to learn about first?"

The psychiatrist said, "Since a lot of this seems to be based around vampires, I'd say that seems like a good place to start. First off, Angel's already made it clear that the only time I should try to fight one is when I have no choice. Even given my black belt."

"Well, if your back is to the wall, that should be something of a help," Wesley said. "Just remember, if that situation ever should arise, that vampires are both stronger and more durable than humans and fight accordingly. In general, though, Angel is correct. Running is the safest option."

"So what else do I need to know?"

"The first thing, I suppose, is that while vampires resemble the people they once were, they are not those people and cannot be trusted. This is because a demon now inhabits their body . . . "

X X X X X

Buffy was there waiting for her. "Hey there. Ready for some more training in how to kick vampire ass?"

Daria shrugged. "Why not?"

"I notice Faith isn't joining us. Did your wonderful plan not work?" Buffy asked this with such an air of mock innocence that Daria could tell she knew damn well that Daria's plan had failed.

"No. It didn't work. Thanks ever so much for noticing. Also, since we're pointing out the obvious, I'd like to add that I have brown hair and that you are extremely annoying."

"I am, aren't I?' Buffy said.

Ignoring her, Daria said, "I ended up having to deal with Faith's emotions without the benefits of actually being Faith."

"Faith had emotions?" Buffy asked skeptically.

"Ha. Ha. Rage, anguish, pain, at a level I've never even come close to dealing with/"

"Rage. _That_ I believe."

"I thought we'd agreed that there wouldn't be any more gratuitous shots at Faith," Daria said.

"Who says they're gratuitous?" Buffy asked. "I say they're well-deserved and long overdue." Daria just glared at her. "Right. Still not in the mood to hear talk like that. So, anything interesting happen today?"

"What, you mean apart from me spending three hours trying to take my cell apart brick by brick?"

The humor left Buffy's face. "Tell me you're kidding." Daria said she wasn't. "Damn. What the hell kind of excuse did you use?"

"Adrenaline fit."

"Not bad. Still, what the hell were you thinking?"

"I was thinking, cell wall or people's skulls."

Buffy said, "Right. So, did they buy it?"

"They seemed to. Dr. Vaughn might have been a bit suspicious, but that's about it."

"Okay," Buffy said. "Anyway, I _did_ mean apart from that."

Daria gave her the five-subjective-minute summary of her day. When she was done, Buffy frowned and said, "Sucks your aunt doing that to you without getting your consent."

Daria said, "You told me Faith was gone and that I just had to deal with it."

"I did. She is. That doesn't mean I think your aunt's being especially nice about the whole thing. I'm lucky to have a mom who supports me, even if I don't pay as much attention to her as I should."

"Anyway. There's still nothing I can do about it. So we may as well get back to the part where you beat the daylights out of me and tell me it's for my good."

"Oh, it _is_," Buffy said with a wicked grin. "Anyway, even if you don't have the instincts, you have the strength. And when you have the time to rely on Faith's muscle memory, that's great. When you don't --" she stopped. "Well. Vampires are the commonest critter you're going to have to deal with. So let's start by teaching you the best ways to fight one of them."

Daria interrupted. "Faith got around to telling me this much. Something wooden through the heart -- it's easiest when it's sharp. Sunlight. Fire. Beheading. They can't drown, they can't starve, and shooting them might hurt them or slow them but isn't going to kill them. Holy water burns them, but it won't kill them unless you push them into a swimming pool full of it. Crosses repel them. No other religious symbol does. It also doesn't matter how devout you are, which is a good thing, because I'm as atheistic as they come. Garlic, she wasn't too sure about."

Buffy smiled, and this time the smile seemed genuine. "I like the swimming pool idea. Yours or Faith's?"

"Mine."

"Not bad. You may have more potential than you think. And for what it's worth, I'm not especially sure about the garlic either. Bottom line? Don't rely on hiding in an Italian restaurant."

Daria gave a Mona Lisa smile and said, "Darn. Well, there go my career plans."

Buffy chuckled, then said, "Anyway, Faith did a good job at telling you how to_ kill_ a vampire." After a second, "My job is to show you how to _fight_ them."

X X X X X

The day, on balance, had gone _better_ than Carla Fisk expected. Apart from Kendrick Talbot, no one made any extended attacks. Some reporters had asked a very similar question in a far more neutral tone, and she'd given them the respect Amy Barksdale had refused to give Kendrick Talbot. Not like Talbot deserved the respect he hadn't gotten.

On her way out the door, she asked the District Attorney if her appearance on _Larry King Live_ could be the last thing she could do connected with the Morgendorffer case, at least today. The DA told her, "I think you've been punished enough for one day." Carla wasn't entirely sure he was kidding.

It was about 5 PM when she left the District Attorney's Office and drove down to the local NBC affiliate to prepare for her appearance. Kal Endicott was waiting when she got there. He seemed equal parts exhilarated and exhausted. "So," he said. "How's your day been, Ms. Fisk?"

She looked at him for a second, then had collapsed to the floor, laughing helplessly. When she was finally done, she told at the young reporter, "Thanks. I _definitely_ needed that."

"Stressful, huh?"

"You have _no_ idea," Carla said. "And I'm aware that your day hasn't been all lying on a featherbed either, but compared to mine, I'm sure you had it easy. I think I've talked to more people today than I have in the last twenty years. I'm not even counting the press conference. And it's hardly like I was stuck down in traffic court until three weeks ago."

"I think I have some idea," Endicott said. "So far I've managed to avoid making myself part of the story, but he only actual new reporting I've been able to do was when I talked to you. Beyond that, I think I've discussed the story and how I broke it with every TV and radio show across the country, from the Today Show to some drive time guy here in LA fifteen minutes ago."

"I've talked with the BBC and the _Sydney Morning Herald_."

"You got me beat there," Endicott admitted. "We do have something in common, though."

"What's that?" Carla said.

"I also had to put up with Kendrick Talbot thinking I was a dupe and a fool."

"Oh?" Carla asked. "And how did you handle him?"

"I hung up on him."

Carla laughed again. "Poor Kendrick. He's not getting love from anyone today."

"I find myself remarkably able to live with his disappointment," Endicott said.

"So can I."

Abruptly changing the subject, the reporter said, "So, do you know who else is going to be on the show with us?"

"I've been too busy answering the same dozen questions 45-50 times each. I was only able to spare five minutes to talk to the woman from CNN, and most of that was spent hashing out where I needed to go and when I needed to get there. I barely even remembered _you_ were supposed to be on it with me. Why?"

"It's Dr. Alexander Pulaski."

Carla's eyebrows shot up so quickly she was amazed that she'd somehow prevented them from slamming into the ceiling. Dr. Alexander Pulaski, who had a medical degree in psychiatry, had gotten a lot of publicity recently by writing a book saying that ninety percent of psychiatric diagnoses were fake. Most of the people who allegedly had psychiatric disorders, he claimed, whether depression, anxiety, or anything worse, were either being deluded by their doctors or were lying to avoid responsibility for their actions. All they really needed was a good slap in the face. Multiple Personality Disorder, of course, was all lies and suggestibility.

Neither she nor Kal Endicott was remotely qualified to rebut him. They'd have to rely on Dr. Vaughn's reputation.

To her surprise, though, as the discussion played out, Dr. Pulaski didn't live up to _his _reputation. Kal Endicott explained the basic story and how he'd happened into it -- to his credit, he was modestly saying that it had been as much as luck as skill. It was only now that Carla learned that Angel, who Endicott had only vaguely alluded to in the article (and whose name he still wasn't revealing), had been the one who'd given the reporter a lot of his information.

Carla provided the official storyline, and all Dr. Pulaski could do was sputter that they'd all been duped.

Finally, Carla had had enough. "How many times have you examined her?" she demanded.

"I don't need to examine her," Dr. Pulaski said haughtily. "I already know she's lying, because there's no such thing as multiple personality disorder."

"Dr. Vaughn says otherwise."

"Dr. Vaughn doesn't know what she's talking about."

"Dr. Vaughn, a firm believer in psychiatry, has proven that more people were faking mental disorders in the last ten years working with the California penal system than you have in your entire life. Her career is _dedicated _to the topic. If she thinks that Daria Morgendorffer's disorder is real, after having talked with her over the course of a year, who the _hell_ are you to say otherwise?"

"She's only doing this for the publicity," Dr. Pulaski said.

Kal Endicott said, "With all due respect, Dr. Pulaski, you're wrong. There wouldn't have been any publicity about this if I hadn't happened to be in the right place at the right time. The DA's office, Dr. Vaughn, the Barksdale sisters -- none of them came to me."

Dr. Pulaski sniffed and, once again addressing Carla, said, "So I presume you'll be happy once you've allowed a murderer back onto the streets."

"If I ever do that, I'll let you know exactly how it feels."

"Faith Lehane is a murderer," Larry King said. "That much can't be argued with."

""And I'm not arguing with it," Carla said. "I don't know how much clearer I can make this: When Daria Morgendorffer is released, she will be alone. Faith Lehane will never leave that prison."


	36. Chapter 36

Author's Note: I am, of course, completely making up the jail layout.

Disclaimer: Daria belongs to Glenn Eichler; Buffy and Faith belong to Joss Whedon; Mrs. Krueger and Cameron Kim belong to me.

X X X X X

Mrs. Krueger waited at a shopping center close to the women's prison until well after dark. She'd have to walk to the jail from there, but she kept herself in excellent shape, so this wasn't really a problem.

The real problem was figuring out where to get inside the prison. She knew where Faith Lehane was being held; the packet Dunwitty had given her had contained a diagram of the prison as well as the ten grand she'd demanded as her up front payment.

While she was intangible, she was also invisible, but she was also only partly aware of her surroundings. Enough so that she didn't rematerialize inside something -- the incident that had cost her her hand notwithstanding. But it was impossible to make out details, such as whether or not any guards were watching where she was standing. Also, she wouldn't have a whole lot of time to wander around the outside of the building. So although coming through the north end would have gotten her to Lehane's cell a lot faster, there was no way she'd make it over there on the outside without being detected.

So Mrs. Krueger settled for going through the main visitor's entrance. She walked up as far as she dared, went intangible, and made her way forward.

She knew where the cameras were. The LA County women's prison had cameras covering the main hallways, the outside of the jail, some rooms, and of course the cellblocks, although not the individual cells, the secondary hallways, or some of the smaller rooms. Since she had the map with her, and a decent sense of direction and location even when she was intangible, she should be able to avoid appearing on camera.

Not that it would necessarily be the end of her mission if she did show up in front of a camera for a second or two. This took into account the likely general boredom of whatever guards got stuck on monitor duty, and also the reluctance of most people to believe their eyes when a woman suddenly popped in and out of existence right in front of them. (That's the way it appeared to other people. It wasn't a gradual fading, which was odd, because it _felt_ like a gradual fading.)

If she was right, she should be in the warden's office by now. When she popped back in, she was happy to see she was right. After looking around for a few seconds to catch her bearings, she took a couple of breaths, became intangible again, and kept going.

The next time Mrs. Krueger popped in, she was in a small back hallway. Then the kitchen area, deserted at this time of night.

Now was when things started to get tricky. She was getting near the cellblock where Faith Lehane was being held, but not close enough that she could safely make it there on a straight shot. If she wanted to get her bearings, she'd either have to rematerialize in a cell block hallway and risk getting seen by a camera, or in one of the cells themselves, which would be occupied by prisoners who might or might nit be asleep, and might scream in terror, attack her, or both. She'd inspired both reactions before. More than once, in the same person.

Okay. Time to earn her pay. Hallway. Brief appearance. One second.

Then, a cell. Two women inside. Both asleep.

Down one level. Going through ceilings or floors required concentration. Left to itself, her body tended to stay at the level it was at when she went intangible. This had nearly killed her once when she'd accidentally walked outside a building on the thirtieth floor. Luckily, she'd had the presence of mind to go intangible again before she smashed into the ground.

Another hallway. Two seconds. If she was right, Lehane's cell should be about fifty feet ahead. She heard an odd skittering noise behind her, but when she turned around she saw nothing. As she popped back out, she cursed the overactive imagination that had made her look in the first place, and got ready to make her final approach.

Within three minutes, Faith Lehane should be dead.

X X X X X

No one, in fact, noticed the orangutan.

Or the pronghorn, the leopard, or the mutt.

As soon as it was completely dark, Cameron Kim started towards the prison. She needed to get there fairly early, because she had no idea when Mrs. Krueger was going to try to kill Faith Lehane, and Cameron wanted to be sure she got there first.

To get there at best speed, she became a pronghorn as soon as she'd put the lights of the shopping center behind her. Not common to Los Angeles, true, but anyone who saw her would almost certainly assume they'd seen a mule deer.

When she got close enough that the guards of the prison might be able to see her if they looked closely enough, she became a dog. Of course, she was relying that the guards were professional and disciplined enough not to take potshots at the mutt. If they did, she'd have to come up with another idea.

As she wandered around the outside of the prison, she watched the guards patrol and noted the locations of the cameras and the lights. Pretending to be looking for food, she sniffed around and gradually went to where she'd determined on her earlier visit was the best place to go over the wall.

Finally, the guards turned their heads, the cameras swiveled away. Cameron became an orangutan and scrambled to the top of the fence as quickly as she could. When she got there, she perched for a second to judge how far she'd have to jump, shifted into a leopard, and leapt to the ground.

Still a leopard, she sprinted to the jail's outer wall. It was smooth enough that human beings not named Spider-Man would have found climbing it an impossibility, but fortunately, Cameron didn't always have to be a human being. Becoming an orangutan again, she clambered up the side of the building.

She paused as she got to the top, not sure if there were any guards posted on the building's roof. It was the one area she hadn't been able to see from the ground.

There was one. Briefly, she wondered what the hell a guard had to do to get stuck on this duty. Did she piss in the warden's cornflakes, or something? It wasn't as though the prisoners would get any benefit from making it up to the roof unless they could either fly or jump a hundred feet out and fifty feet down without becoming street pizza, and the guards in the watch towers had a much better view of the grounds.

Still, even though there was only one guard, Cameron had to avoid the woman. Sure, she could knock her out or kill her fairly easily, but that would only get the alarm raised faster than Cameron wanted it raised the next time the guard didn't report in, or someone came to relieve her and found her body. So, sneaking was in order. And the door to the inside was propped open. Seemed like a dumb place to encourage your guards to prop open _any_ doors, but Cameron wasn't going to be voicing any complaints.

Not a lot of hiding places, though, and the roof was well-enough lit that she couldn't simply hide in the shadows.

Well, crap. That left her only one real choice, and it was one she hated.

Waiting until the guard had her back completely turned, Cameron swung over to the far corner of the roof, climbed onto it, and became a python.

She was now about fifteen feet long, but most importantly, she was low to the ground (okay, low to the roof) and hard to see -- while the roof was well-lit it wasn't bright all the way around. Quickly, she slithered as close to the roof entrance as she could and still remain in the shadows. The guard walked over fairly close to where she was sitting -- if she saw Cameron, the shapeshifter would have to make a break for it -- but she moved away before anything happened.

Inwardly breathing a sigh of relief, she slithered up to the door. Thankfully, it looked like she could just fit through the crack. Since she knew the nearest guard station was a fair distance away, she wouldn't have to deal with any startled corrections officers as she went down the stairs. She went inside and down the stairs, then stopped for a second to figure out where she was in relation to Faith Lehane's cell, and how best to get there.

Before she went on the assignment, Wolfram & Hart had magically implanted a complete floor plan of the prison inside her head, complete with camera and guard post locations. Apparently the lone woman on the roof didn't qualify as a guard post. So she knew where Lehane was. Hell, Cameron even knew she was in a cell by herself.

And, now that she stopped to think, she knew the best way to get there. For most of the way, it would probably be better for her if she stayed as a python, no matter how much it bothered her. There was something different about becoming a cold-blooded creature. She'd never become a fish -- Wolfram & Hart had other agents they could use for undersea work -- never been an amphibian, only rarely became a bird (since emu and cassowary was about her range, there didn't seem to a point), and only became a python when she needed to be inconspicuous.

Cameron couldn't take the fastest route, unfortunately. The roof guard might not have seen her, but she couldn't rely on every guard in the building being as careless. And even though a python wouldn't be as noticeable as a cassowary or orangutan, there might be _some_ people who'd notice the 15-foot long snake slithering along the floor.

It took her back hallways and ventilation shafts, but eventually she got to the row of cells where Faith Lehane was being held.

Now she had to be _extremely_ careful. Not all the prisoners were asleep yet. While they still couldn't see her, she took the shape of he roof guard and walked down the row of cells.

Lehane herself was asleep, but Cameron couldn't wait in her cell -- she'd have no warning when Mrs. Krueger showed up. So she walked back to the middle of the row, waited until she was near a collection of cells where all the inmates _were_ sleeping, changed back to a python, and slithered inside to wait.

She guessed it was about an hour later when Mrs. Krueger popped in. It had been a nerve-wracking wait, during which she had wondered whether it was the inmates or the guards who would find her first.

Cameron was coiled to strike at a moment's notice, though, and as soon as Mrs. Krueger appeared, she left the cell, shifted into leopard form, and got ready to spring, all within half a second.

But Mrs. Krueger started to turn around, and Cameron quickly changed back into a python and raced off into the nearest cell. The assassin had an absolutely deadly reputation; when Cameron struck it was important that it be a surprise. She didn't want the woman to phase out, and she wanted to be struck by the woman's metal hand even less.

Fortunately, Mrs. Krueger didn't see her. Instead, she turned back and popped back out of sight.

Cameron moved back out of the cell, staying a python this time, and quickly slithered down the hall towards Lehane's Cell.

The attack was coming. Cameron needed to be ready for it.

X X X X X

"They're hardly going to stay still so you can stake them," the echo began. "And it's not like fighting a person. You have to take into account that vampires are stronger, faster, and tougher than humans, and that they don't take the same damage a human being does. Slice a human's leg with a knife, they'll be crippled and bleeding. The same slice to a vampire will hurt them and maybe make them limp for a while, but they'll get better if you let them, and they'll still be able to fight. Not that you shouldn't slash them in the leg if you get the chance; but you have to be aware of the differences."

"I'm guessing you don't use a lot of weapons, though," Daria said.

"Well, stakes, obviously. Crossbows are good from a distance, and I know how to use a lot of them. I've used swords, knives, clubs, and a lot of the time I've just improvised with whatever's handy. I've never learned guns. They're better than nothing, but people tend to get overconfident when they're carrying them, and they won't kill a vampire unless you're carrying rounds powerful enough to blow their heads completely off -- and those aren't common. So, you're right. I prefer hand-to-hand in most situations. There are times when you'll need a specific weapon -- some critters can only be killed with a silver blade, or something -- but that's the advanced class. Right now you just need to concentrate on the basics."

"Which would explain why you are once again beating me to a pulp."

"That, and it's fun," Buffy said, grinning. "Look. You have Faith's instincts to fall back on, but I really don't think your own are as bad as you think. The problem is, you're training against me, and you training against me is like a Golden Gloves boxer trying to take on Muhammad Ali. Unfortunately, at the moment, I'm all you've got."

Daria blinked. "Did you really just compare yourself to Muhammad Ali?"

"I _am_ the greatest," Buffy said, without the least trace of modesty.

"Are you this arrogant in real life?"

"Probably not," Buffy conceded. "I'm Faith's perception of Buffy, mixed with some of the real Buffy left over from the body switch. And even though Faith finally realized that letting people die when she could do something about it is 'wrong,' her opinion of me's likely still mixed at best. But it's probably not completely off the mark."

"I can't wait to meet her," Daria said.

"Hold on. Wait. Let me guess. That was sarcasm, right?"

"Gee, you're bright. I--"

All of a sudden Buffy blinked and said, "What the hell?"

"Buffy?"

"Hold on a second," Buffy said seriously. Then, "Wake up."

"What?"

Buffy said, "No time to argue," and reached over and pinched Daria.

Daria blinked and opened her eyes --

Right in time to see a woman with a metallic hand reaching for her throat.


	37. Chapter 37

Disclaimer: Lynette Vaughn, Bonita Juarez, Mrs. Krueger, and Cameron Kim are mine. The _Buffy _characters are Joss Whedon's; the _Daria_ characters are Glenn Eichler's.

X X X X X

Dr. Lynette Vaughn lay in her bed in the Hyperion, thinking about the events of the day. She'd known as soon as she'd seen the story in the morning _LA Times _that the day was going to be complicated; if she'd known _how­ ­_complicated --

No, she was forced to admit, she wouldn't have done anything differently. She couldn't have. For most of her professional life she'd tried to make sure that prisoners didn't screw the system; along the way, she'd discovered that it was just as much a part of who she was not to let someone get screwed _by_ the system. She wouldn't let a prisoner get away with pretending to a mental illness they didn't have; she also wouldn't give up on one who was actually, genuinely, afflicted. Wrong was wrong, either way.

And that, ultimately, had led her here. Because she couldn't let Faith Lehane get jobbed by Amy Barksdale and Carla Fisk. Because she was trying to save someone who deserved to be saved. Because of who she was.

Because of all of that, she had now been plunged into a world of supernatural creatures that paralleled and supplemented the human one -- a world where narrowly prevented apocalypses were a yearly occurrence. And now she needed to figure out what she was going to do about it.

Revealing the secret was out, and not because no one would believe her. She'd given her word. Lynette realized that keeping one's word was considered a bit outdated these days, but she liked to think hers still meant something.

Pretending she didn't know about it was also out. That would have been the equivalent of a little kid sticking his fingers in his hears and yelling "LA LA LA LA I CAN'T _HEAR_ YOU" at the top of his lungs, and it was not only mentally unhealthy, it was undignified.

That left her a choice between simple acknowledgement, while still living her life as best she could; and incorporating it somehow into her life. She had no idea which option she was going to take, yes. She'd taken Angel being a vampire calmly because hysteria would have been pointless. Anyway, the science of the situation demanded the conclusion. She was no Scully, to frantically explain away things by whatever slender thread of dubious scientific worth she could come up with.

Lynette knew one thing, though: She was going to have to talk to Faith before she made her decision.

She didn't think she was capable of doing what Angel and his co-workers at Angel Investigations did; despite her black belt, she didn't think she was up to the challenge. If her life depended on it, she could fight; but she couldn't see herself seeking out the battles.

But if Faith or Daria needed her, she'd be there. She wasn't sure if either of them would; combined, the two of them seemed perfectly capable of taking care of themselves.

Until then, all she could do was try to get some sleep.

X X X X X

Daria's instincts, unhoned though they were, kicked in, and she immediately rolled out of the bunk into the body of the woman reaching for her throat. The woman fell down, sprang to her feet, and . . .

Disappeared? What the hell?

Daria immediately kicked the space where the woman had been standing, and felt nothing. Terrific. Vampires were real, she was supposed to kill them, and now she was being attacked in the middle of a damn prison by either Kurt Wagner or Kitty Pryde.

She threw another experimental punch and again felt nothing.

Okay. She knew she wasn't dreaming. So --

She felt a cold, metallic hand grab her neck from behind. "I don't know how you woke up," the woman whispered, "But you're making me work and I don't like that."

The woman shoved Daria forward and Daria hit the wall face-first. Ignoring the pain, Daria spun around only to find the woman once again reaching for her throat.

She suddenly stopped. Daria was confused until she saw the snake wrapping itself around the woman's leg. Of course, this only swapped out one confusion for another. Her attacker looked around and said, "Damn!" and then vanished again.

Daria should have been more surprised than she was when the snake suddenly became a young Asian woman maybe a couple of inches taller than Daria. She said, "You okay?"

"Yes -- who are you?"

"The person hired to save your life. And you're welc -- aaack!" The choking noise came when Daria's attacker abruptly reappeared and began choking her rescuer. Daria was about to move in to try to rescue the rescuer when the woman changed from human to leopard and, though still being held, lashed out with a paw, slashing at the attacker's face.

By now, some of the other prisoners were beginning to wake up. The two in the cell directly across from Daria got out of their beds, saw what was going on, yelled "What the fuck?" and immediately started shouting for the guards. (Daria would have bet anything it was the leopard that had clinched it.)

The leopard's slash had caught the attacker in the face. "God _damn_ it!" she yelled, then dropped the leopard and immediately disappeared again.

By now other inmates had started screaming, including those who couldn't possibly have seen the bizarre battle taking place in Daria's cell.

"Thank you," Daria finally said.

The leopard became a woman and said, "Just doing what I was paid to do." Guards were now running down the corridor. "I have to --" her rescuer began.

Daria never heard the end of the woman's sentence. Her attacker reappeared running, grabbed Daria, and this time when she popped back out she took Daria with her.

It was a bizarre and utterly inexplicable experience, the next few seconds. Daria couldn't have described it if she'd tried, and she prided herself on her voluminous vocabulary.

The woman let Daria go, throwing her to the floor. As Daria looked around wildly she saw that they were somehow in the prison kitchen.

"Now then," her attacker said. "Where where we?"

X X X X X

Bonita Juarez looked at the clock when the phone rang. 11:51 PM. Her husband was lying asleep next to her and started to stir.

"Go back to sleep, Ray," she said, looking at the caller ID. "It's for me." She picked up the handset and said, "Hello?" Then, five seconds later, "What?"

"There's a major altercation in Lehane's cell ," the guard at the other end said.

"I heard you the first time," Bonita said, springing out of bed and reaching for her clothes. "It just surprised me. What the hell's going on?"

"About ten minutes ago some of the other prisoners started yelling for the guards, saying there was a leopard in Lehane's cell and how the leopard was attacking another woman, and the other woman was attacking Lehane. By the time they got there, Lehane wasn't in the cell anymore, but a Korean woman was. No signs of a leopard, either; hell, the woman wasn't even wearin' a leopard-skin outfit. And it ain't any of the inmates, either. The two across from Lehane's cell said how this other woman grabbed Lehane and just vanished."

"So she escaped."

"Nor from what we're hearing," the guard said as Bonita quickly put on a pair of jeans. "It ain't coherent, but the two women are sure that Lehane didn't want to go anywhere. We've got the Korean woman in custody, but she ain't saying anything, not even her name. We have no idea where Lehane and the other woman went."

"I assume you're scouring the prison."

"Top to bottom," the guard said. "We'll find them."

"You know the drill," she said. "Lock the place down. Flood the outside with light, and call the LAPD. And tell me: How the _fuck_ do two people break into a jail?"

"Beats the hell out of me," the guard said.

"I want to know how. How the hell secure can we be if we let two people break in?"

"We caught one of them."

"She was in the cell when you got there. Gary Coleman could've caught her." Then something struck her. "A _leopard_ was in the cell with her?"

"That's what they said. Beats the hell out of me why they thought that. Korean girl was wearing all black, not even a leopard-print suit."

"Okay. By the time I get there, I want Lehane back, the woman who attacked her caught, and the Korean woman's name. Do you understand me?" The guard said he did. "Good!" Bonita said, and slammed the phone down.

"What's wrong?" her husband said sleepily.

"Not sure. One of my prisoners is either trying to escape or being kidnapped."

"You need me to stay up?"

Bonita shook her head, "No. But I don't know how long this'll take. Just make sure the kids are all up and out tomorrow if I don't get back in time, okay?"

"Okay," he said, and fell back asleep. Bonita didn't worry. Ray was responsible; he'd do it.

So two prisoners said they saw a leopard -- and that another woman had taken Lehane and "just disappeared."

Likely her guards weren't being as diligent as they needed to with their contraband searches. Still, she'd like to know exactly what the hell was going on.

She grabbed a soda from the fridge, took her keys, and headed out to the car.

X X X X X

"Where we were," Daria said calmly, "Was my jail cell. But I suspect you already knew that."

"I don't need this," her attacker said.

"I, on the other hand, was of desperate need for someone to attempt to murder me in my sleep. I'd like to thank you for filling that hole for me." While Daria's mouth automatically came out with sarcastic comments, internally she was doing her best to channel Faith. This woman was here to kill her; she'd broken into a prison to do so. (And so had leopardwoman, but she was nowhere to be seen.)

The woman looked like nothing more than a suburban housewife gone commando; she even had a wedding ring on her hand. The hand that wasn't made out of metal, of course. Daria estimated her at about forty, and clearly the woman knew how to fight and could either teleport or walk through walls.

When the woman didn't move or say anything, Daria said, "Well? Are you going to try to kill me again, or did you bring me in here because you had a crème Brule recipe you wanted to try out?"

The woman didn't answer, instead popping back out. In the background, Daria could distantly hear the sound of people running through the prison hallways; but they were nowhere close by. She looked around for the doorway, at the same time keeping an eye out for her attacker. The one thing Daria'd figured out so far is that the woman preferred to strangle her opponents. She'd grabbed Daria by the neck once, her rescuer by the neck once, and had been reaching for Daria's neck when Buffy had woken her up. (And how had the echo known? A mystery. But one best left for when her life wasn't in imminent danger.)

She saw the door; it was clearly locked. Possibly, Daria could have kicked her way through it, but felt she probably wouldn't have the time. The woman was about Daria's own height. So. When she came in, it would likely be within about four feet or Daria, and either directly in front of her or directly behind -- wait, what was that --

And there she was, grabbing Daria from behind and once again shoving her forward towards an oven. Daria managed to catch herself before her face actually smashed into the metal. Letting Faith's instincts take over, she pushed herself back as hard as she could. This apparently caught her attacker by surprise, because Daria collided with the woman and they both fell to the kitchen floor.

When Daria scrambled to her feet again, the woman was gone. Daria thought about what she thought she'd heard just before the woman vanished -- a very slight sound.

If she concentrated, she could probably isolate it -- but she'd have to let the woman get off at least one more free shot. The guards in the background had come no nearer. Understandably, since the door appeared to be thoroughly secured, no one would have guessed that they would have ended up there. They were probably checking outside and obvious access paths thereto.

Daria walked forward and concentrated.

There the sound was again --

And the woman herself, a fifth of a second later. Daria had no idea what the sound represented, except the imminent return of her attacker.

Who, this time, had appeared right in front of her, but in a change of tactics, instead of trying to choke Daria, punched her in the stomach first, using her metallic hand. The woman didn't seem to be any stronger than an ordinary person, but the force of the blow doubled Daria over nonetheless.

The woman then pushed her backwards; the wind knocked out of her, Daria fell to the floor, landing on her back. Within a second the woman was on top of her, pinning both of Daria's hands beneath her body weight as she sat down.

"This is a lot more work than I normally have to put in," the woman said as she began to choke Daria. The metallic hand had a very strong grasp, and Daria wasn't able to take a breath, much less concentrate enough to let Faith's instincts take over.

Think, Morgendorffer! Dammit! Faith would have some move --

And so did Daria. She wasn't sure enough of herself to try to kick her attacker in the back of the head, or try to wrap her feet around the woman's neck and drag her backwards

But she knew how to _roll_.The woman looked stunned as Daria, flexing her entire body, turned over. The woman had to release her grip on Daria's throat or she would have been thrown into the wall. If Daria had had her normal human level of strength, that never would have worked.

"Jesus Christ," the woman said as they both scrambled to their feet. "The Council never said you had that kind of strength."

The Council? Where had Daria heard that name before?

Didn't matter. "I suggest you go take it up with them, then," Daria said.

"I will," she said. "_After_ I've fulfilled my contract." And she popped out again.

Daria closed her eyes, tuned out the distant sounds of the guards, and listened.

There it was. Three feet to her right. Without thinking, Daria jabbed out with her right arm as hard as she could.

She could her attacker square in the face. The woman staggered backwards, crashed into the wall, and lay still.

Daria ran over to check on her -- still breathing. Just unconscious.

Then it hit her.

She'd beaten the woman. A super-powered assassin, and Daria had beaten her.

_Daria_ had. Not Faith. Not Buffy. Not the guards. And not some shapechanging Korean woman.

As she took a couple of steps backward, the guards unlocked the kitchen door and came racing in. "Ah," she said to herself. "And right on cue . . ."

She held her hands up as they came over. One of the guards came over and put cuffs on her hands, but they seemed more interested in the other woman.

"Just to let you know," Daria said. "She attacked me."

"We know, Lehane," one of the guards said. "How the hell did you get in here?"

"I have no idea," Daria said truthfully. "But I assume we're headed off somewhere so someone can interrogate me."

"You got that right," the guard said. Out of the corner of her eye Daria noticed them putting handcuffs on the other woman even as she lay there unconscious. It would be interesting to see if, when she phased out, the cuffs went with her.

Daria kind of hoped they did.

"Tell me one thing," Daria said. "What time is it?"

The guard looked confused, but said, "11:58."

Daria smiled to herself as they led her out of the kitchen. She was sure the investigation would show that she'd done nothing wrong.

But that wasn't why she was smiling.

On April 10, 1997, Daria Morgendorffer had been killed.

On April 10, 2001 -- with two whole minutes to spare -- she was reborn.


	38. Chapter 38

Author's Note: Heading down the home stretch. The end is near.

Disclaimer: _Buffy_ characters belong to Joss Whedon; _Daria_ characters belong to Glenn Eichler; all other characters and the plot belong to me.

X X X X X

In the early morning of April 11, Bonita Juarez arrived at her prison (and yes, she thought of it as hers) to find everything, at least on the surface, under control. John, the head of the night shift guards, met her at the prison entrance. "What's going on?" she asked.

"We found Lehane and the other woman in the kitchen. They'd been in a fight. Lehane won. The LAPD is doing their business here, for the moment, but they still can't tell who either of our guests are."

"Have you figured out how they got inside?"

"No," John said. At least he wasn't trying to make excuses. So far, everything we've seen points to this being some kind of hit in Lehane, by the redheaded woman, anyway. The Korean woman ain't talking about whatever part she played; in fact, she ain't talking at all. But Perez and Jackson -- you know, the two women across from Lehane -- say it was pretty fucking obvious Lehane wasn't interested in going anywhere."

"Yeah, but they also say they saw a leopard -- and that the redheaded woman just grabbed Lehane and disappeared."

If they're on anything, Warden, you couldn't prove it by any of us. The cops got a blood sample from each of them just in case, but they ain't acting like they're all strung out."

"What's Lehane saying?"

"So far, that she suddenly woke up and found the two women in her cell, that the Korean fought the redhead and the redhead fought both of them, and that she ain't got no idea how she ended up in the kitchens. Then the redhead tried to kill her -- the woman's got this freaky-ass metal hand, you can still see the bruises on Lehane's neck -- but that she managed to fight her off. We took them both to the hospital -- the redhead was out cold when we got there, and we wanted to have someone check out Lehane's neck."

"So what you're saying is . . ." Bonita prompted.

"I realize I ain't an investigator, Warden, but sounds an awful like to me like Lehane's telling the truth."

Bonita knew that Faith Lehane had made some enemies in her day; she hadn't thought any of them wanted to have a hit put on her that desperately that they'd have someone invade a prison to do it, but obviously she'd pissed off _someone_ along the way. And she was pretty sure that Lehane hadn't been trying to escape. For that matter, she was equally sure about the Daria part of her personality; Dr. Vaughn had never said anything about any hints of that, and the psychiatrist was usually pretty sharp about things like that. Still, the investigation needed to be thorough. "Where are they?"

"The redheaded woman's still in the hospital area, 'cause she's still out. The Korean's in the visitor's area being grilled by two cops, and Lehane's chatting with two others in, um, your office." John flinched, expecting Bonita to be angry.

Under normal circumstances, she probably would have been. She hated it when people thought they could just walk into her office, much less take it is over as though they had the right to do so. But these circumstances weren't even _close _to normal. Keeping the three women that far apart had been an excellent idea.

"I'm going to go sit in on the discussion with Lehane," she said. "Go check to see if they've learned anything about our other two uninvited guests, and, most importantly for us, how the hell they got in here."

"Right," John said, and walked away.

There was a uniformed officer standing outside of Bonita's office. He moved to stop her, but she said, "That's my office and this is my prison. I think I have the right to go inside."

The officer hesitated for a second, then stepped aside and waved her in.

Now, let's see if she could figure out what the hell was going on around here, since no one else seemed to have a fucking clue.

X X X X X

In the early morning of April 11, despite the fact that she was being interrogated by two of LA's finest, Daria Morgendorffer was in a good mood. She'd finally proven to herself that she could handle these new worlds she'd ended up in.

Yes, worlds.

One was the world of the supernatural -- the vampires, the demons, the werewolves. Even if she'd never be Faith or Buffy, she could handle herself.

The other was the world of the future. True, 1997 to 2001 might not exactly be "Daria Morgendorffer in the 24th Century," but it _was_ four years. As the saying went, it was four years of her life she would never get back.

"And you still say you don't remember how you got into the kitchen?" the balding man -- a Detective Hunter -- said.

Daria repressed her natural urge towards sarcasm. Yes, it was stupid, annoying, and counterproductive to have to answer the same question for the fifth time, but smarting off to police officers when they had you in custody somehow seemed like a peculiarly stupid idea. So instead of saying what she wanted to say -- "Why, yes, actually. She ran at me, tackled me, and walked me through a wall," which would have had the additional virtue of being the literal truth -- she said, "No. I remember being in the cell, and I remember being in the kitchen. I can't explain how the woman got me there."

"And you've never seen this woman before?" Hunter's partner, a Detective McCall, said.

This question Daria _could_ answer honestly. "No."

The woman continued, "Back to the incident in your cell. So what do you think of the two inmates who say they saw you and the attacker disappear?"

"I think you'd better search their cell to see what they've been smoking," was Daria's answer. "Aren't these the people who also claim they saw the leopard?"

"Are you saying you didn't?"

Detectives," Daria said, "It is just barely within the realm of possibility that two people managed to break into a prison, even one as well-run as this one is. But a leopard? That just doesn't make sense."

Right then the door opened. "Who are you?" Detective Hunter asked irritably.

"The prison warden," came the voice of Warden Juarez. "Since you're using my office, I thought I'd see what I could do to help. Any progress?"

"She keeps telling us the same story," Detective McCall said.

Because you wouldn't believe the truth, the whole truth and nothing but, Daria thought. You wouldn't believe that a woman can transform herself into a snake and leopard, or one who could phase out of existence and back in again with only the slightest sound to betray her return. And if you did believe them, you couldn't handle them.

But she could. And she knew that. Now.

"Maybe it's the truth," the warden said. The detectives clearly weren't even willing to concede the "maybe." Detective McCall turned her head, and Detective Hunter simply grunted. "Mind if I talk to her?"

The detectives looked at each other until Hunter finally shrugged and said, "What the hell. Maybe you'll have more luck than we have."

Then, without another word, they left the room.

The warden moved from behind Daria to in front of her, sitting down at her desk. After the two detectives had shit the door, her mood changed from cool to annoyed, though she didn't seem to be personally annoyed at Daria. "How the hell do I make this go away?"

"You're asking the convicted felon?" Daria asked in disbelief.

"No, I'm asking Daria Morgendorffer," Warden Juarez said.

This brought Daria up short. "You know --"

"I know enough," she said. "I know Dr. Vaughn brought you back out and somehow got rid of Faith. I know you're not happy that Faith isn't around any more. I know that you're not even pretending to be her any more -- you haven't been using her accent _or_ her vocabulary. And I know that there's something going on out there that I don't understand. You may be able to bluff the guards, Dr. Vaughn, and even the LAPD. Don't _ever_ try to bluff me. Here's the important thing, though. I don't care about the stuff I don't understand, _except so far as it affects my ability to run this prison_. I can't have people breaking in here trying to kill you. Or, for that matter, save you. Or because they've heard we have a nice gift shop."

"You have --

"We don't have a gift shop," the warden said tightly. "So. Tell me. How do I make this go away?"

Daria said, "I don't know how you're going to explain it. I do know this much: Any explanation is going to involve making the two inmates who say they saw a leopard and two vanishing people look like they're either lying or delusional. It's also going to have to involve a coherent explanation of how the redheaded woman and I got from my cell to the kitchen, and I'm being honest when I say that I can't give you that information. The truth is this: I woke up to a woman with a metal hand trying to choke me. I managed to fight her off, and the other woman came in to try and rescue me. We fought for maybe a minute. Then comes the whole "how-did-they-get-to-the-kitchen" portion of the discussion. Then we fought and I won. What you're going to do with that, I don't know. I _do_ know I did nothing wrong here, though."

"You left your cell," Warden Juarez said.

"Involuntarily."

"I've only got your word for that."

Daria resisted the temptation to roll her eyes, and said, "If you truly believed I had tried to escape, the second I'd gotten out of the prison hospital you'd have had me thrown in solitary. Not sitting comfortably in your office."

The warden said, "You're right. I don't. But it might be the easiest thing way for me to make this go away."

"Except," Daria said calmly, because it really didn't sound like the other woman wanted to handle things that way, "That ship sailed so long ago that it's reached the other port and the crew are all off the boat looking for hookers. At the moment, you can't hide me and hope I go away, because the news story's too big."

"I know," she said. "And it would be wrong, too." Daria hadn't wanted to try the moral argument, not knowing where the warden stood on that. "I wish I didn't know that, but I do." The phone rang right then; the warden spoke in monosyllables and hung up the phone irritably. "If you're interested, we've figured out something about one of your visitors."

"I am," Daria said. It was obvious why the warden wasn't especially happy. "One" implied "Not the other one."

"The woman who tried to attack you was carrying a couple of documents that referred to her as 'Mrs. Krueger.' I've never heard of her, but the police are acting like they just caught Osama bin Laden. Apparently she's a high-level hit woman, and she doesn't come cheap. Who the hell did you piss off?" She'd have to remember that name.

"Me? No one. Faith, now -- you'd have to talk to her. _Oops_," Daria said acidly. "You can't." Just because Daria was feeling better about herself didn't Faith's situation still didn't rankle her. Yes, she'd changed her mind about what to do about her situation. She wasn't going to be uncooperative with the psychiatrists at all; she was going to feed them every answer they wanted to hear so she could get out of here as fast as she could.

"Watch it. _I_ had nothing to do with that." Which was true. She'd gotten the short end of the stick in this as well. Not as short as Daria or Faith, but short enough.

"You're right. I'm sorry. I'm angry about this, but not at you."

"Apology accepted," Warden Juarez said, sighing. "Now I still need to figure out what I'm going to do."

"You're not going to be able to keep the invasion quiet," Daria said. "Too many people know about it now. The leopard and the disappearing act should be easier. Anything you can come up with that doesn't seem likely to get me an extra 5-10, I'll back up."

The warden frowned, but it was a thoughtful frown, not an angry one. "I'll hold you to that," she snapped. "Now. We'll tell the good detectives that you must have blacked out, and that Mrs. Krueger dragged you to the kitchen to finish you off while locking the Korean woman is as she left."

"Why didn't she kill me there?" Not a bad start, though.

"Witnesses."

"Makes sense. Now. Where are you going to put me for the rest of the night? My cell's still a crime scene."

That question, the warden couldn't answer right away."

X X X X X

In the early morning of April 11, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce stood guard in the Hyperion. It annoyed him slightly to have had to refrain of joining a battle, but the reasoning was sound. Angel and Gunn were better fighters, they needed Cordelia to tell them where the demons from her vision were, and someone needed to watch over Dr. Vaughn.

So he had to do it.

So be it. He still might believe Angel high-handed in the way he'd handled the situation, but he couldn't fault his motives or his desire to protect the psychiatrist.

Eventually he'd worm the truth out of the vampire. He was certain of it.

Until then, he was content with his book.

X X X X X

In the early morning of April 11, Amy Barksdale was still wide awake, wondering what she could have done differently to make the situation not turn out like it had.

The answer always came back the same: Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Dammit.

She turned over and lay on her stomach, closed her eyes, and hoped for sleep to finally come.

X X X X X

In the early morning of April 11, Lynette Vaughn thought about vampires, thought about Faith, thought about Daria, and thought about herself, and what she was going to do.

Eventually, she'd doze off. She hoped.

X X X X X

In the early morning of April 11, Carla Fisk slept.


	39. Chapter 39

Author's Note: Yes, I snuck in a cameo last part. I'm sneaking in a couple more this part. Ain't none of the cameos mine.

For that matter, neither is Daria, who belongs to Glenn Eichler, nor Buffy, Faith, and Lilah Morgan, who belong to Joss Whedon, but the warden, Mrs. Krueger, and Cameron Kim are mine.

X X X X X

Later in the morning of April 11, Daria Morgendorffer found herself back in a familiar room. "It's the best we can do for the moment," the warden said as she had the guard lock her into the meeting room where she'd first been reawakened, two weeks ago today.

Despite the circumstances and the events of the day, she fell asleep quickly enough, and soon she was back facing Buffy in the apartment. "So," Daria said. "Let's talk about my night."

"Yes, let's," Buffy said. "I see you survived."

"With flying colors. But before I give you the details -- _how did you know I needed to wake up_?"

Buffy said, "It's hard to explain."

"Try."

"I'm not sure I can, at least completely. Slayers, in their dreams, can sometimes predict the future. I suddenly had a vision of you being choked to death in your prison cell."

"You had a vision?" Daria said.

"Well, you did, but _you_ you never saw it."

"So you are a separate personality."

"Nope. Just a fragment of one. If you pinched me, I wouldn't wake up in your body."

"It's not an experiment I'm planning to try," Daria said. "And next time, if you could channel the dreams of me being murdered to me?"

"Not under my control," Buffy said. "Or yours, either. Anyway, it worked. You're still alive. Now. What happened? You seem different."

And so Daria explained the events of the last couple of hours. When she was done, Buffy nodded, saying, "Not bad. I don't think I've ever had to face someone who could pop in and out like that."

"I'm fairly sure she was dematerializing, not teleporting."

"Either way, you did good."

Daria was surprised to hear unqualified praise from the echo. "Thanks."

Buffy said, "I told you you could. And I'm happy for you. Not the way I would have handled it, but that's a stylistic difference. And there are no style points in being a Slayer. You followed rule number one: You didn't die." She sounded completely sincere. "So," she went on. "Are you ready to keep training?"

"As a matter of fact, I am," Daria said. "I think I'll be able to do this now. Even without the instinct. It was something I did early on when I fought Faith, and your early successes against me somehow got me out of that rhythm. I may not have the instincts, but I have the brains. I can use them. Even in the middle of a fight. I know you say that sometimes I might not have the time -- and I agreed with you, because you're the expert. Or an unreasonable facsimile thereof. But I think fast, and I think well. It may not be instinct, but it'll make a pretty good substitute."

"Oh, really?" Buffy said. "Win one fight and you think you're ready to take on the world?" The tone was challenging, but not disparaging.

"Not the world," Daria said, smiling faintly. "Just you."

"Well, look at you," Buffy said. "All dressed up and ready to party. You think you can take me?"

"I think I can try," Daria said. "And if you quote Yoda back at me --"

Buffy's answer came in the form of a right hook to Daria's jaw.

Daria blocked it.

Buffy smiled. "This has promise," she said, and the sparring began in earnest.

X X X X X

Later on the morning of April 11, Mrs. Krueger awoke to find herself handcuffed to bed in what looked to be the prison hospital. Her head hurt, and if her nose wasn't broken it was pure luck that it wasn't.

God damn the Council for not mentioning that Faith Lehane wasn't an ordinary human being. The strength she showed, she was either part-demon or the Slayer. Either way, they'd sandbagged her.

Almost certainly unintentionally; Dunwitty was an idiot, but they had no reason to screw her over. Didn't mean she hadn't been screwed, though. The folder she'd carried, with the map bearing her nom du assassination had, of course, long since been confiscated. It didn't give her real name, of course; she wasn't that dumb. But it was enough to get her in a lot of trouble.

Saying that "this wasn't good" was a severe understatement. She had no idea how long she'd been unconscious. By now, though, she had to assume they had her photograph, fingerprints, and possibly a DNA sample. Even if she phased out of her chains and ran away immediately, her career was over. She'd need to pack up her vital documents and her family, burn her house to the ground, and get the hell out of LA before they had the chance to plaster her photo all over the news.

She got ready to dematerialize, but before she could do so, she heard a voice say, "Good. You're awake."

Unfortunately, it didn't sound like any nurse Mrs. Krueger had ever heard. Her hopes that it was, instead, the doctor, were destroyed when she turned her head and the man standing there. "I'm Detective Gannon. And you are?"

"Invoking my right to counsel," Mrs. Krueger said.

"I don't see how; we haven't charged you with anything yet. And I don't see what harm it can do for you to tell me your name."

"Of course you don't."

"Well, then, since you seem like you're dead set against answering any questions, you can just listen to me talk instead," Detective Gannon said. "I don't know how you got in here, but so far we've got you cold on breaking and entering, attempted murder, and possibly engineering a jailbreak. And if you're who we think you are --" he seemed to be waiting for her to say something; she didn't oblige him -- "Fine then. I'll tell you. You call yourself Mrs. Krueger. We've been looking for you for years. You've got a string of hits attributed to you as long as my arm. If we nail you on any of _them_, you're going away for life. At the very least."

Mrs. Krueger still didn't say anything. She was fairly sure they couldn't convict her on any of her earlier, successful killings; she didn't leave witnesses, and she didn't leave fingerprints. Anyway, it wasn't like any jail could hold her.

Still, as soon as she got out, she definitely would have to run.

"I see you're still bound and determined to stay quiet. Fine. But, just to make everything legal: You, whoever you are, are under arrest for breaking and entering, the attempted murder of Faith Lehane, and anything else the DA can think up to keep you in jail while we nail you on all those murders you've pulled. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will . . ."

X X X X X

Later in the morning of April 11, Cameron Kim sat in the attorney-client room of the prison, waiting for her chance to escape. She could have changed at any time, but she wasn't bulletproof. She had to wait until she was alone, or near some deep cover -- or a crowd.

When Mrs. Krueger had left her in the cell, she hadn't had a whole lot of time to change her form; the inmates in the cell across from Lehane's had already seen that she was Korean. She had, however, decreased her height by an inch, changed her facial features, made her eyes a lighter brown, and increased her bust size by a couple of inches. Her parents wouldn't recognize her if they tripped over her.

She was currently being grilled by an older cop who'd called himself Detective Provenza when he entered the room. He was doing his job, asking all the right questions, but every once in a while his gaze slipped down to Cameron's newly enlarged breasts. Not often enough that she thought she could take advantage of it to escape, unfortunately.

"So, tell me," Provenza said, "How'd you get in here, and why the hell would anyone break _into_ a prison?"

Cameron decided to tell him the absolute truth, knowing there was no chance the old fool would ever believe it. "I walked up to the outside fence. Then I climbed it, jumped off when I got to the top, ran over to the wall of the building, climbed up the outside, snuck in through the roof access door, and made my way through the ventilation system until I got to the right cell block. Then I hid for ninety minutes or so, and jumped the redhead when she was attacking one of the prisoners. About two minutes later, the guards showed up. And you know the rest."

Provenza shot her a dirty look. "And you did this why?"

She shrugged. "Because someone paid me to."

"Now that," he said sarcastically, "I believe. Otherwise, if you're not going to answer my questions seriously, don't answer them at all."

"I did answer them seriously," Cameron said. "It's not my fault you don't believe me."

"Yeah, well, I'll know better than to ask next time," Provenza said. "So. What's your name?"

"Lucy Park," Cameron lied.

"Well, Lucy," Provenza said, "If you can't tell me how you got in, could you tell me your connection to Faith Lehane?"

"I've never heard of her before today," Cameron said. "I told you: I got paid to come here."

"Well, who paid you?" Provenza looked like he desperately wanted to be smoking a cigar while he interrogated her.

"My superiors," Cameron said.

"You think that's funny?"

"I think it's hilarious."

"We'll see how funny it is when you're locked up for assault, breaking & entering, and setting up an escape from prison. Look. I got dragged from my nice warm bed at midnight, and now I gotta put up with shit from a runty Korean chick who seems to think it's funny to make smartass comments to a man with a gun and doesn't seem to get how much trouble she's in."

"I get how much trouble I'm in," Cameron said, ignoring the other parts of Provenza's tirade. And the answer was, damned little. Her fingerprints weren't on file anywhere, so they wouldn't be able to track her down by her real name _or_ her photo. And even if Wolfram & hart decided the situation was too embarrassing -- Cameron put those odds at about 50-50, because she knew that while she was fairly valuable she wasn't irreplaceable -- she'd still be able to get away at some point. All she needed was a moment alone. Or easy access to some woods.

"I seriously doubt that," Provenza said.

Cameron just smiled.

X X X X X

Later in the morning of April 11, Lilah Morgan was awakened from a sound sleep by her phone.

Instinctively, she knew it wasn't good. Unlike with most people, Wolfram & Hart employees sometimes got calls after midnight that were wonderful news, but she didn't have anything hanging fire where a late-night call would have been welcomed.

The voice on the other end of the phone belonged to a Wolfram & Hart flunky whose name, like most, she'd never bothered to learn. "Hell had better have either broken loose or frozen over," she said.

"Not literally, but metaphorically," the underling said. Terrific. A call at 1:47 AM and the idiot was trying to show off his intelligence. "It concerns the prison raid."

"What happened?" Lilah demanded, her sleepiness rapidly disappearing.

"Well, the good news is that Daria Morgendorffer survived the attack, and that Mrs. Krueger, as per instructions, isn't dead."

"You wouldn't be calling me now with good news," Lilah said. "At least, you'd better not be. Go on."

"Both Mrs. Krueger and our operative were captured."

"How did _that_ happen?" Lilah asked, disbelievingly. These were ordinary prison guards. That they captured both a person who could walk through walls and one who changer her shape stretched the bounds of probability nearly to the breaking point.

"Morgendorffer somehow beat Krueger in a fight in the prison kitchen; our source says Krueger was carried out, so I'm think she got knocked out. As for our operative -- as near as I can tell, the guards caught her before she had a chance to get away."

"Okay," Lilah said. "That still doesn't explain why they haven't escaped yet." Well, in Cameron Kim's case, she understood; the young woman wasn't bulletproof.

"Anything you want me to do?" the flunky asked.

"Have either of them asked for a lawyer?"

"Krueger, yes. Our operative, no."

Cameron Kim still had plans to escape. "Send a junior associate to whatever police station Mrs. Krueger ends up at. As for Cameron Kim -- we need to arrange a distraction so she can escape." No, she hadn't fully succeeded, but the main objectives of her mission had been achieved, and she was too valuable a resource to casually throw away.

"What did you have in mind?"

"Nothing too subtle, too flashy, that points anywhere near us, or that gets anyone killed. Beyond that, it's up to you."

Lilah could hear the man gulp at the other end of the phone. Hell, why should _she_ be the only one to suffer? The flunky knew the right answer, though.

"I'll get right on that," he said, and then Lilah hung up.

Now it was _her_ turn to decide whether to wake someone up in the middle of the night.

X X X X X

Still later in the morning of April 11, Buffy called, "Break!" and she and Daria pulled clear of each other. Daria was breathing heavily.

But so was Buffy. "Not bad," the echo said.

"I meant what I said and I said what I meant."

"A Slayer's annoying one hundred percent."

Buffy laughed. "Take a compliment, would you? Your confidence and brains are helping you, no question."

"In the last hour or so, I've hit you almost as much as you've hit me. And don't tell me you weren't trying, or that you were taking it easy on me. Because you weren't."

Buffy shook her head. "Almost isn't good enough."

"You're 'the greatest,' you said."

"But I'm not the real Buffy. I'm a pretty fair imitation, but I doubt you could take the real me in a fight."

"Unless things go completely to hell, I'm not going to have to," Daria said.

"Well, Faith and I fought."

"Yes. But as everyone seems thrilled to point out, I'm not Faith."

"That's right; you're an improvement," Buffy said. "At least -- that's what you've told me they say. Not insulting her this time. I swear."

"I know," Daria said. "And I still have no idea how I'm going to get her back. But I'm going to. Somehow. And now I know I can handle the monster killing, if I have to. So now all I have to do is get out of here. So I'm going to play their stupid game. I'll even play it by their rules. I'll show them that, no matter how irritated I am, that in order to get out of here, to get away from these assassination attempts, I can live with what they've done to Faith." Daria took a breath, and added, "And then I'll show them how wrong they were."


	40. Chapter 40

Author's Note: If anyone's interested, when creating the characters I had the actress Amy Brenneman firmly in my mind when picturing Mrs. Krueger. As for my other original characters, I'm not sure. Any thoughts?

Also, some light timejumping this part. Nothing too taxing.

Disclaimer: Daria belongs to Glenn Eichler; Faith, Lilah, Linwood and Wolfram & Hart belong to Joss Whedon; everyone else belongs to me.

X X X X X

When Mrs. Krueger got to the police station, she still hadn't given the police her name.

To her great surprise, though, an attorney was there waiting for her. "What are you doing to my client?" he asked.

"And you are?" Detective Gannon asked.

"Jess Ferrell, Wolfram & Hart. And I'd like to talk with my client."

"I _have _invoked my right to counsel," Mrs. Krueger said. "And I think I'd like to talk to him, too."

"After we're done processing you," Detective Gannon said firmly.

About a half hour later, she finally got to see the lawyer in private. "Not that I'm not glad to see you," she said, "But I didn't ask for you specifically."

"True," Ferrell said, opening his briefcase. "But we decided that since we're partly responsible for getting you into this predicament, that it was only fair that we should get you out of it."

"You sent the shapeshifter," Mrs. Krueger said, not making it a question.

"Not me personally," Ferrell said. "But yes, Wolfram & Hart is responsible for putting the shapeshifter in your way."

"Why?"

"Because at the moment we have a vested interest in keeping Faith Lehane alive," Ferrell said. "You don't really need to know any more than that. Now. This is going to be difficult to get you out of, but I think we can get you completely cleared of all charges."

Mrs. Krueger knew damn well that Wolfram & Hart didn't do charity work. "And what I have to do in exchange is . . ."

Ferrell smiled. "Right to the point. I knew I'd like doing business with you." He pulled a contract out of his briefcase. "You have to sign this contract making your services exclusive to Wolfram & Hart."

"I figured as much." When after another ten seconds or so she hadn't said anything, the Wolfram & Hart attorney said, "Think about it this way. You career, as you know it, is over whether I spring you or help you get off. The police are onto you now -- they know who you are, and they'll spread it, even if they can't prove it. At least by signing on with us you get to keep doing what you like, and you keep getting paid to do it. And we might be able to restore your hand --"

"_No_," Mrs. Krueger said firmly. "I've heard where you get those body parts from. And I like my metal hand by now, anyway. In any event, the police don't have any evidence on my earlier career."

"They can," Ferrell said pleasantly.

Sighing, Mrs. Krueger said, "Give me the damn contract." She read it over. Wolfram & Hart wasn't lying about one thing -- the money was good. As for her soul, she'd always figured that was bound for hell anyway. She signed it at the bottom.

Ferrell looked down at it. "I can't read the signature, but don't think that's going to get you out of this if you change your mind later."

"I didn't think that at all," Mrs. Krueger said. "I just have lousy handwriting."

"So," the attorney said. "What's your real name?"

So she told him.

X X X X X

As the police drove Cameron Kim to the station, they suddenly stopped and turned around. The car screeched to a stop and, after the driver turned around and said, "Stay here," as though most normal people would have had a choice, they both sprinted into a nearby building.

Cameron didn't know what or who had made them run off like that, but she wasn't going let such a spectacular opportunity to get out pass her by. She changed into a bonobo -- also much stronger than a human being of the same weight -- and began yanking at the grill separating her from the front seats. (She knew better than to try to punch out the glass.)

The grill, though, was built to withstand human strength, even angry human strength; it was less than adequate against a determined ape. After a minute or so of work, she'd managed to work the grill loose. She then shoved it into the front seat, scrambled over it, and out the driver's side door.

After getting well clear, she dodged into an alley, shifted into the form of a tall, thin black woman wearing a waitress uniform, and calmly walked off.

Cameron was tired -- but she figured she'd better get to Wolfram & Hart and report in first. She hailed a cab and got in and ordered the cabbie to take her to Wolfram & Hart main office.

Then, tomorrow, she'd see what new assignment they had ready for her.

X X X X X

When Daria woke up, she had a stiff neck, but she knew what she was going to do with her life. On balance, despite fighting for her life, almost destroying her cell, finding out her aunts didn't care about her opinions, and facing off against an occasionally snippy echo of a vampire slayer, she'd had a good 24 hours or so.

Strike "good" and replace it with "productive."

After ten minutes or so, a guard came in and said, "Come on, Lehane." Daria stood up, spent a few seconds working the kinks out of her muscles -- the guard graciously gave her the time -- and then followed him.

When it turned out they were headed to the cafeteria, Daria asked, "Any idea when I'll be able to get back into my cell?"

"Nope. They didn't tell me. They just told me to take you to breakfast and then to your job." Interesting that she still had the prison job, what with being completely insane, prone to fits of rage, and having people so interested in having her dead that they'd break into a prison to do it. Either the warden was throwing her weight around, or no one had cut through all the red tape yet and the forms ordering her disposition were buried somewhere on some flunky's desk. She wouldn't have placed bets either way.

Daria proceeded to do exactly what the guard had delineated, at least until most of the way through her second class -- which taught general clerical skills. Then another guard came in and said she'd been ordered to the warden's office.

Once the guard had closed the door and left them alone, the warden said, "I've got the story in place."

"You do?"

"Yes." Then she explained the story they were going to feed the police, reporters, and anyone else who happened to ask.

Daria thought it was pretty good; her only question once Warden Juarez was done was, "What about the eyewitnesses and our two midnight visitors?"

"The guards didn't see much -- and they'll say what I tell them to say. As for Maria Perez and Eve Jackson . . . well, let's just say that bribes were involved."

"You must trust me a lot to tell me this."

"I trust you because I know this is in both of our best interests. If we go down, we go down together." Actually, Daria wouldn't harm the warden unless the warden harmed her first. And so far Bonita Juarez appeared to be one of the few people she'd met who was actively trying not to cause her trouble. But she understood the woman's reasoning.

"Let me guess. Since you're going to need to make them look like they were on some sort of pharmaceutical, and that this is going to make them look bad and maybe add some time to their sentences, you figured that it would only be fair to offer them some compensation, because while you're perfectly willing to be a harass to inmates who deserve it, you feel it's unfair to cause trouble for those who haven't. And so, since Maria Perez and Eve Jackson are fundamentally innocent, and you're going to have to get them in trouble for the greater good of the prison, they're going to have to get something to make up for it. How am I doing?"

"A good guess," the warden admitted.

"I said I'd back your story, and I will," Daria said. "What about our two visitors?"

"One lawyered up almost immediately and hasn't so much as given the police her real name. The other one, um, escaped."

"Behold the legendary prowess of the Los Angeles Police Department," Daria said.

The warden snorted, but changed the topic. "You might want to know, also, that your aunts didn't waste any time. You're scheduled this afternoon at 2 PM to get a visit from a Dr. Simonson."

"Thanks for the warning," Daria said.

"And try to behave yourself, okay?" she asked. "I'd really like you to get out of the prison so I can put all of this shit -- multiple personality disorder, invading leopard women, you pounding the hell out of your cell wall -- behind me, and behind this prison. All I've ever wanted to have this place run as smoothly as I can have it run. Having you here doesn't make that any easier."

"I plan to behave myself." Daria didn't bother coming up with a smartass response to the warden's statements, because the warden was telling her the truth as she saw it, not being vituperative, and if she'd wanted to be vindictive there had been several points over the last two weeks that she could have done so. She hadn't. "Not that I'm still not a little annoyed about the way this was all handled. But I have no idea whether someone might decide to repeat the events of last night -- and I'd rather not be here when that happens, any more than you want to have me here."

"Good. We understand each other."

"We certainly do."

Warden Juarez summoned the guards to take Daria -- by now, it would be to take her to lunch.

Dr. David Simonson proved to be completely humorless and, in Daria's opinion at least, borderline competent. She fed him the answers he wanted to hear -- yes, she was still somewhat upset, but yes, she wanted to get out of the prison, so yes, she would cooperate, and no, she had seen or felt no evidence of Faith's existence since Dr. Vaughn had removed her.

The psychiatrist, at the end of the hour, seemed satisfied, although he promised to hypnotize her on the next visit to make certain she wasn't lying.

That should prove interesting.

X X X X X

Carla Fisk awoke the morning of Wednesday, April 11, 2001, to the sound, on her clock radio, of an incoherent story about an attack on the prison where Daria Morgendorffer was being held, and the subsequent, um, escape from custody of one of the attackers, a young Korean woman who had, apparently falsely, identified herself as Lucy Park.

She had five messages on her phone already; she'd turned the ringer off last night to stop anyone from waking her up for "just one more question --" one from the DA's office and four from various reporters. As soon as she spent five minutes cleaning up, she called the DA back.

"You must have gotten into work extra early today," she said.

"I never left," he said, and probably meant it. "Anyway, I wanted to let you know that you do _not_ have to field any calls about yesterday's break-in at the jail."

"I couldn't even if I wanted to, sir," she said. "The only thing I know about it was the thirty-second story I heard on KBTS when my alarm went off. And that story didn't make much sense."

"I've been hearing about it half the night and it doesn't make any more sense to me," he said. "The only thing you need to know for your purposes is that Daria Morgendorffer was the intended target but managed to fight off her attacker. We have that attacker in custody and I'd like you to prosecute the case."

Carla shook her head to clear it of any remaining sleep fog, and said, "Are you sure, sir? There're certainly still going to be some calls coming in on the original Morgendorffer/Lehane issue."

"And you can keep fielding them on occasion -- but they're no longer your top priority. This woman who invaded the prison and tried to _kill_ Morgendorffer is."

It struck Carla as the kind of case any attorney in the building could easily handle in their sleep, and she said so. "You'd think so, until you realize who this woman has for her defense attorney."

"I don't care if she's got Perry Mason working with Matlock," Carla said. "This is a slam dunk."

"She's being represented by Wolfram & Hart."

Carla took a deep breath, blew it out between pursed lips, and said, "I can handle this, sir."

"I hope you can," he said, and hung up.

Well. She wished she could take back her words to the District Attorney, whose attitude seemed to be, "Hey, you just climbed Mount Everest; why not go swim the English Channel?"

Fortunately, she was in good enough shape to do both.

X X X X X

Lilah Morgan stood in front of Linwood Murrow. "So," the man said. "Not only did Daria Morgendorffer survive the night, but we managed to take advantage of the opportunity to sign Mrs. Krueger up as an official employee. I'd say that was a productive couple of days, Lilah."

"Thank you, sir," she said. Of course, getting Mrs. Krueger completely cleared of charges would be hard even for them. Still, she had no doubts the Wolfram & Hart legal team would find some means, fair or foul -- okay, most likely foul, but they weren't above playing fair when they had to -- to get her freed.

"And Cameron Kim?"

"She was told not to let either Ms. Morgendorffer or Mrs. Krueger die, and they're both still alive. That she had to be rescued is costing her her bonus, but I don't see any particular reason to discipline her. Genuine shapeshifters her level of talent are rare."

"True," Linwood said. "I'm leaving that up to your discretion."

When Linwood hadn't said anything else after a minute, Lilah assumed she'd been dismissed and said, "Good day, sir," as she made her way to the door.

"Lilah," he said after she took a step.

She turned back around. "Yes?"

"One thing you seem to be glossing over is that Daria Morgendorffer successfully fought off Mrs. Krueger by herself, without a lick of training. Is it possible we've been played for fools throughout this?"

"I don't think so," Lilah said. "It turns out that the Council representative never bothered to tell Mrs. Krueger she was facing off against an actual Slayer. And while Daria Morgendorffer's personality may not be trained, she still has the physical abilities any Slayer does. I think the combination explains Mrs. Krueger's defeat."

"It does," Linwood said, frowning slightly. "Still. This development worries me a bit. Continue to keep an eye on Daria Morgendorffer. Should she prove interested in the life of a Slayer -- well, then, we might have to reconsider your position on keeping her alive -- along with other positions you're currently holding. If you catch my drift."

If she caught his drift? She couldn't have avoided catching it if she'd tried.

Still, Lilah thought as she walked away, it wasn't her life wasn't in constant danger anyway, just by living here. One more threat was hardly going to faze her.

For the moment, things were going well.

That was good enough.


	41. Chapter 41

Author's Note: This is earlier for Bonita Juarez than the scenes we've seen already.

Disclaimer: Buffy's Joss'; Daria's Glenn's; Remainder's Mediancat's.

X X X X X

People kept coming up to Daria and asking her what had happened last night; not just inmates, but guards. She probably talked to more people that afternoon than she'd talked to combined in the entire rest of the time she'd been the personality controlling her body.

She told them all the same thing: She'd been asleep when "Mrs. Krueger" -- apparently her real name was still a mystery to the police -- had someone broken into her cell. They'd scuffled briefly; the assassin had knocked her out and dragged her to the kitchen so she could kill Daria out of the presence of witnesses. Then she had turned the tables and had managed to knock her attacker unconscious, right before the guards showed up. What this talk was about a Korean woman, or a leopard, Daria had no clue.

Apparently this Mrs. Krueger had quite a reputation; according the guards and inmates, she was thought to have killed 40-50 people over her career. Daria wouldn't have known her from Eve, but then Daria tended not to hang out on online contract killer bulletin boards. That Daria had even survived was seen as a major accomplishment (and this was even given Faith's reputation as being a "chick you wouldn't want to mess with").

That Daria had beaten her, and gotten her captured, had propelled her reputation from "tough chick" to "Wonder Woman." Not that Daria would take advantage of it, directly at any rate, but she got the impression that anything she wanted, from contraband through any woman in the prison, was hers for the asking. She decided she'd just settle for them leaving her alone, though it wasn't as though she'd had to fight people off on a daily basis.

The balance of the afternoon not spent rehashing the events of last night with all and sundry or talking to the world's most boring psychiatrist was spent, once again, in the library. She found a copy of Dante's _Divine Comedy_ on the shelves, and started to read that.

Not that she was in love with Dante's philosophy, but she did admire his inventiveness.

She also liked the role Virgil played. All alone in a strange wood, descending into hell, and Dante got a guide who knew exactly where he was going and when to call for help when necessary.

The world, of course, wasn't like that.

X X X X X

Lynette Vaughn woke from what had been one of the worst nights of sleep of her life, stretched, and looked around the room.

She checked her watch -- it was still before 7 AM. Still, there was no way she was going to get back to sleep. Her dreams, when they'd come, had been full of movie monsters, from Dracula to Freddy Krueger, all bearing down on a terrified and helpless Daria. When Lynette tried to protect her, she had no luck; all they could do was run.

She knew that dreams didn't predict the future, and that the dream symbolism so beloved by Freud was equal parts fact and fiction. Still, it wasn't hard to figure out what this one stood for. Lynette was worried that, even with her help, Daria/Faith wouldn't be able to handle her responsibility.

Her rational mind knew that, on some level at least, this was absurd -- faith, after all, had been handling it for a couple of years, and even though her emotional state had been nowhere near stable, it was Lynette's considered opinion that the time Faith had spent killing supernatural creatures had only been marginally responsible for her having had the breakdown she'd had.

They hadn't helped, of course; but due to the circumstances of Faith's creation, she would have had some kind of mental meltdown whether she'd been a vampire slayer or joined a convent.

But her rational mind knew that her concern for Daria's life was in no way misplaced, seeing what Lynette has been told the average lifespan of a vampire slayer tended to be. Buffy -- the other slayer she'd been told about in passing -- had been doing it for over four years now, was 20 years old right now, had been doing it for over four years, and at _that_ was one of the longest-lived ones in history.

Obviously there was little, if anything, Lynette could directly do protect her. And yet, she still wanted to. She didn't bother analyzing why, because the why didn't matter.

So she would try.

After she cleaned up and went to the bathroom, she took her cell phone off its charger and called her husband.

"Hi, sweetie," he said.

"Hi yourself."

"I heard about everything that happened after the _LA Times_ published that article -- how did you get away from that?"

"By hiding out somewhere no one would think to look," Lynette said.

"Challenger Deep?" When his joke was met with silence, he added, "Well, no one would think to look there . . ."

"So it's a good place for me to put your body."

"One of the best."

She chuckled to herself and said, "Did the media frenzy get to you any?"

"No. There are _some_ benefits to being trapped out in the middle of fuck-all nowhere. This shoot's as far out in the woods as we can get. If any reporter actually went through the hassle of making it out here, I think I'd almost feel obligated to answer their questions. But all I got was a dozen or so phone calls -- and that's why God invented assistants."

"I'm glad you weren't bothered," she said.

He said, "After hearing about what happened, so am I -- for you, I mean. So, are you going to try to get out today or are you going to stay in hiding?"

"I thought I'd poke my head out and see if I saw my shadow -- or shadows, as the case may be," Lynette said. "If it's not too bad, I might try to go home. If it is, I'll just stay here for a while longer."

"Okay. Keep me up to speed. I love you."

"Love you too," she said, and they hung up.

When she dressed and got downstairs to the lobby of the hotel, the only one there was Angel. There was coffee and donuts on what used to be the check-in desk. "Good morning, Doctor. I didn't know what you might like to eat for breakfast," he said. "But I figured it's hard to go wrong with coffee and donuts."

"You'd be in trouble if I were a diabetic Mormon," Lynette said, but went over and poured herself a cup of coffee and took a chocolate glazed. "Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome."

"So, you're the only one here?"

"I'm the only one who lives here full-time. Everyone else is free to crash here if they need or want to, but that's usually only before, after, or during emergencies."

"Speaking of which," she said. "How did things go last night?"

Angel frowned slightly. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Ideally? No. But lacking any convenient anvils to fall on my head and give me amnesia, that's not one of my options any more. Tell me."

So Angel told her what they'd been doing last night. Two Burchells' demons -- Angel described as being, essentially, humanoid zebras --- had been running a meat shop where all the meat came from freshly killed human beings. It was disgusting, but Lynette had been well prepared to hear something like that.

"And you killed the demons and shut the place down?"

"Yes, we did. We got lucky -- caught them on a day they were brining in new supplies, so there wasn't a mob of angry customers to deal with."

"Hmmm."

"Hmmm? I thought we did a good job."

A bit startled, Lynette said, "No. No. Absolutely, you did a good job if they were doing what you were saying. It's just that -- well -- maybe if you'd kept the store open, you could have gone back there tonight and gotten some of their customers too."

Angel grinned. "That's a hell of an idea, Doctor. And you know what? We _can_ do it tonight. We didn't have any witnesses and a place like that isn't going to be open during the day. Provided Cordelia doesn't have any visions, that's exactly what we'll do." Cordelia had explained her visions to Lynette yesterday.

"How do you do this every night?" Lynette asked.

Angel said, "Because someone has to. And on balance, I'd say we've done good work, over all."

"I didn't ask why," Lynette said. "I asked _how_. Don't you get tired? Mentally tired, I mean, of doing the same thing, putting your life in danger, day after day, with so much at stake?"

"Of course we do," Angel said. "But it's not like we get no downtime at all. Everyone here has things they do for fun. But when it's important, we come back here. And I really _can't _give you a better answer than 'someone has to' for both how and why we do it."

"It's just amazing to me, that's all," she said. "That you and Faith and everyone can do all of this -- and that Daria might have to as well --" she didn't want to think about that. Faith was ready for it. Daria, despite beating the hell out of her cell wall, wasn't.

"I know. I do it every day and I'm still amazed. Honestly, Doctor, you amaze _me_ a bit."

"How?"

"Because you aren't pretending that I just have a severely deformed face, you're not pretending that Daria's not what she is, and you're not running for the hills."

"Not like that would do me much good. The trolls would probably get me."

Angel grinned. "No. They were all killed off years ago."

"Oh. Good."

"Anyway, you're not doing any of that."

Lynette shrugged. "I'm not built that way."

"And neither are we."

Thinking a bit about what Angel had said, Lynette realized she'd gotten the best answer she was going to get.

And, for the moment, it was enough.

Angel asked, "So, what are your plans for the day, Doctor? You're free to stay here as long as you have to."

"I appreciate that, and I may take you up on it," Lynette said. "But I thought I'd take a look outside to see how things are going."

"It's still a big story," Angel said, handing her a copy of the morning's _LA Times_. Kal Endicott had another front-page story, following up and discussing what had happened yesterday.

"Did you read it?" she asked.

"Yes, just to see if the wind had changed. It hasn't, really. There's a significant minority of people who still think this is some scam Daria's running -- but it _is_ a minority."

"Good," Lynette said, and quickly skimmed the story herself. Angel had been right.

Before she flipped to page A7 to see the continuation, she noticed a story about a break-in at the LA County Women's Prison -- yes, a break-_in_. The details weren't clear, "but it definitely had something to do with yesterday's public revelations about the true identity of Faith Lehane," according to a police spokesperson.

"Excuse me," she said to Angel, and quickly dialed Bonnie Juarez' work phone number.

"Hello?" the voice said exasperatedly.

"Bonnie," Lynette said. "What happened?"

"We're still trying to figure that out. But she's okay."

"She is?" Lynette said, relief evident in her voice.

"Yes," Bonnie confirmed. "She was attacked, but she fought off the woman who attacked her. Look, Lynette, I don't have a lot of time to chat at the moment --"

"I completely understand. Give me a call once all the heat's died down."

"I will," Bonnie promised. "Talk to you later." On Bonnie's subsequent goodbye, both women hung up and Lynette pondered what to do next.

Her neighbor was usually up by now, so she called her. It turned out that some reporters had apparently hung around outside her Palladium Lane house for most of the day -- at least, her neighbor confirmed, some of the ones who were there when she left in the morning had still been there when she got home in the late afternoon.

None seemed to be there yet this morning, and her neighbor had successfully ignored the few who'd tried to talk to her. Lynette thanked her and said goodbye.

"Everything okay?" Angel asked.

"Everything seems to be. Apparently Daria fought off an attacker last night -- and not another prisoner, either. Someone actually broke into the prison.

"What?" Angel said, practically erupting from his seat.

"You only read the one story?" Lynette asked.

"That's one more than I usually read," Angel said, taking the paper from Lynette's unresisting hands. He skimmed it and said, tightly, "Damn."

Lynette said nothing to that; there was nothing she could say. "Someone attacked her. In prison. Someone _broke in_ to attack her there. And while I know Faith made herself some enemies along the way, there are only two I can imagine with both the money and the guts to actually send someone to attack her in jail. Those would be the Watcher's Council and Wolfram & Hart. And I'm going to find out which one it was, and who specifically gave the order."

"And?"

"And I'm going to kill them."

Lynette shook her head. "No, you're not."

"I'm not."

"No." After a second, she added, "_We're_ going to kill him."


	42. Chapter 42

Author's Note: The text of Daria's dream is a pastiche of John Ciardi's translation of Dante's _Inferno_, Canto XXXIV.

Disclaimer: Daria and Amy and Rita Barksdale belong to Glenn Eichler. The _Buffy_ characters belong to Joss Whedon. Everyone else is mine.

X X X X X

Amy Barksdale woke up Wednesday morning from a lousy night's sleep -- the last time she remembered rolling over and looking at the last night, it was past 2 AM, and now it was just past 7, and she was wide awake.

At least she hadn't dreamed. She was glad of it. Her dreams would have no doubt thrown her conflicted feelings about the situation with Daria back into her face, so she was glad she hadn't had any -- or at least, hadn't remembered any.

After a shower, she felt at least somewhat awake. She called room service and ordered up some coffee, then opened her door and took her complimentary copy of the _LA Times_. When she sat down to read it, she was horrified at the lead story. She picked up her cell phone and was ready to dial when she realized she actually had no one she could call -- everyone would either be asleep, or, on the off chance they weren't asleep, would hang up on her. Putting the phone down, she finished that story, read the _other_ story about her niece, and immediately flipped to the editorial page.

The _Times_ itself wasn't commenting yet; its editorial was about something or other President Bush had done. Normally she'd be interested. Right now, Amy couldn't possibly care less. There were three letters about Daria, one positive, one negative, and one somewhere in the middle. Whether that was reflective of the actual proportions of the letters they'd received, or was simply _Times_ editorial policy, she couldn't say. And to a large extent it didn't matter; the important thing is that there was no major outcry demanding that "the city keep that murderer locked up."

There was a knock at the door. Opening it, she found room service there with her coffee. She drank it while half-heartedly leafing through the rest of the newspaper.

When she was done with the coffee, she left the cup outside the room and went to see whether her sister was awake yet. Rita, who'd been awake for only about ten minutes when Amy knocked on her front door, had, of course, gotten a wonderful night's sleep, and couldn't for the life of her understand why Amy was so exhausted, the obviousness of which on Amy's face, it had to be noted, she pointed out in excruciating detail. Amy didn't bother taking offense any more. It would have been like getting offended at the wind when it blew papers out of your hand.

She handed Rita the morning _Times_; Rita looked at the headline, up at Amy, and then back down at the story. When she was done, she was as horrified as Rita had been. "Is she okay?" Rita asked.

"I don't know yet. I wanted you to see the story before I called," Amy said glibly, then pulled out her cell and dialed Carla Fisk's number.

It took her a couple of minutes to persuade the receptionist to route her call through; that she was not, in fact, another member of the media, but actually someone who had serious business to discuss.

"Ms. Barksdale," she said. "What can I do for you?"

"The first thing is let me know if my niece is okay," Amy said.

"Oh. Right. Yes, she is. I can tell you that much. She managed to successfully fight off a woman thought to be an infamous assassin, and ended up with no more than a few bumps and bruises."

"Thank you," Amy said, relieved. Daria was safe. That was the important thing.

Daria managed to fight off a hit woman? Either her nieces was tougher than she thought or contract killer standards had dropped dramatically since the 1930's.

"Unfortunately, I can't tell you anything else," the ADA said. "I've been assigned to prosecute the woman, so that makes it an active case."

"Good luck," Amy said. "Have you felt any more direct fallout from yesterday?"

"Some. It's still a big story, and it's not getting any smaller with the news of the attack on the prison. I've talked to a handful of reporters. You?"

"No. Of course, part of that could simply be that they don't know where we are yet. Like with Dr. Vaughn."

"Possibly," she said. "Anyway, if anyone starts harassing you too much, let me know and I'll see what I can do. Or your sister."

"I suspect Rita would thrive on the attention," Amy said. "And in any event, she's going to be back in Virginia in a couple of days."

"She is?" the attorney sounded surprised.

"Yes, of course. There's no point in both of us staying here for as long as it takes, but obviously one of us has to. I'm the one with temporary guardianship, and since I'm a freelance writer I can work from LA as easy as I can from New York. Rita and I will share the costs; we're going to look for a place I can rent by the month so I can get out of the hotel."

"Okay. Like I said, if there's anything I can do, let me know."

Carla Fisk was being civil and friendly, but there was a clear undertone of I-have-to-get-back-to-work in her voice. Amy didn't take it personally. "I'll do that," she said, and said goodbye.

"Daria's okay," she said to Rita when she hung up.

"Well, I got _that_," Rita said irritably. "I doubt you would have stood there chatting up the woman if Daria was dead or even seriously injured. I'm not _that_ dumb, Amy."

"I didn't mean to imply that you were," Amy said, knowing she'd implied no such thing.

"And what was that crack about me thriving on the attention?"

"You deal better with the public than I do," Amy said. "If reporters try to interview you, you'll handle it well. That's all."

Rita was apparently only partly mollified. "I'd hardly say I _thrive_ on having people asking insulting questions about my niece. But you're right that I'd deal with it better than you would. I mean, really, Amy. What were you thinking being so sarcastic to that horrid Talbot fellow yesterday?"

"I was thinking maybe I'd defend my niece from some vicious allegations. But perhaps I was wrong."

"Amy, your sarcasm isn't doing you any favors now either," Rita said. "I applaud your desire to defend Daria. I'm simply questioning your methods of doing it."

"Which is why I'm leaving it up to you from now on," Amy said.

"Is there anything we _can_ do today?" Rita asked after a half minute or so of awkward silence.

"Well, ADA Fisk is busy, Daria hates us and Dr. Vaughn's not too happy with us either. We've already made arrangements for that other psychiatrist to come see Daria today."

"So, time for shopping?"

"I guess, if you want to," Amy said. "I'm not sure I want to take the risk."

"The risk? Amy, sweetie, this is Los Angeles. If a mob of reporters forms they're going to be looking for someone far more interesting than you and me."

Seeing Rita's point, even if she didn't quite buy it, Amy said, "Okay, then. There's nothing else we can do for Daria right now, so if you want to shop, we may as well shop." After a pause, "Besides, there's this bookstore I've heard a lot about."

"A bookstore?"

"You shop your way, I'll shop mine."

X X X X X

Daria read the _Inferno_ until it was time for dinner. She checked the book out and was escorted directly to the cafeteria by a guard. "After dinner, you finally get to go back to your cell, Lehane," the guard said.

"Goody. There's no place like home."

Though it was against usual policy, the guards held onto the book during the meal, during which Daria regaled the other eaters at her table with her tales of how she'd fought off a hired assassin, yet again.

Then she was escorted back to her cell, which looked as though it had been gone through by a combination high-level janitorial service/police crime lab. If there was a square millimeter that hadn't been examined for forensic evidence, you couldn't have proven it by Daria. The good news was that the place was spotlessly clean, and of course that they didn't find evidence that Daria/Faith had been engaged in any nefarious business, because there was no evidence to find --

Except, of course, for the damaged wall, which had been covered up and plastered over. Since Daria hadn't been questioned by Lieutenants Hunter or McCall on the damage, she presumed Warden Juarez had explained it away somehow. Either that, or the police simply had better things to do.

As Daria was in for the night, she got back to reading the _Divine Comedy_. By lights out, she'd made her way through most of the _Inferno_ -- Dante and Virgil were in the 9th and lowest circle of hell, and it was only a matter of time before they got out. She had only Canto XXXIV left to read, but that would have to wait until morning.

X X X X X

That night, she dreamed. And for the first time since she'd come back to herself, it was not set in a certain apartment.

In the dream, she herself was going through the _Inferno -- _with someone guiding her, someone she couldn't quite make out.

"On march the banners of the King of Hell,"

Said my guide. "See, there, ahead of us:

Can you see who he is? Can you tell?"

Like grinding machines seen at a distance vast

In an early morning fog, I saw his hands --

And through gestures they moved quite fast

Stirring up such a foul air and a vapor

That I had to hide behind my guide

For protection; first, rock, then paper

Then scissors, over and over again

Till one could not tell, no matter how closely

One looked, which one he threw right then.

The way ahead was barren and paved with ice;

Still, my guide had to prod me into action

For I would not move of my own device.

When we had gotten closer, she said,

"Now, look at the face of the one

Whom above all others you feel most dread."

And, Listener, I beg of you, do not make me tell

You how I feared who I was about to see.

I knew then indeed I was in hell.

The Architect of my Universe of Pain

Jutted his upper chest above the ice.

I looked briefly but did not want to ascertain

His features; for I knew that his face

Would fill me with the greatest of fear.

My guide said, "Courage! You are almost done the race.

Just turn your gaze upwards and confront

The one who sent you here, into this dread domain.

I realize it is not something that you want

But it is something you must do, must

To be finally free of this accursed place.

I told her, "I comprehend. I do. It's just

That it is so difficult to take that final leap."

My guide smiled and said, "It is. Just

Remember that once you are done you may keep

Those he tortures with you, forever. They will no

Longer be held here, in bondage, in this

Inferno of your own creation. Daria, so.

Can you look up?" My guide's words shamed

Me beyond any I had ever heard;

And I felt that I was suddenly enflamed

With the desire to finish this, for once and all.

So I forced my head to gaze upwards

And of course there is no doubt what I saw:

Willard Jay Harbaugh stood there, always making

Those gestures with his hands, causing a

Powerful wind that froze all of the 9th circle, taking

Me along with it. In his mouth he worked three

Victims between his pointed teeth -- keeping

Them in continual pain, till I set them free.

"Those up there, who suffer still," explained my guide,

"Are your sister, your father and mother.

And now you must decide."

And the decision I had to make was clear

As the ice upon which I trod:

It was time for me to face up to my fear.

"Harbaugh!" I screamed. "You have kept me here

Imprisoned in darkness, in twilight, in limbo,

In this private hell, for four long years.

No more. No more will I remain in this jail

Of your devising, just as I will not long stay

In the prison of the world. I shall not fail

To escape either. But," I said, turning

To my guide, "I will not leave this foul place

Alone. Should Faith still be here, burning

Or freezing, tortured in any manner,

Any way, any fashion at all, then where

The King of Hell still marches under his banners,

There, until she is freed, I shall remain."

The fierceness in my voice quite startled

My guide, who said, "She is not in this domain.

No. Faith has already escaped Hell and waits

For us, at the base of the Mount of Purgatory,

Where we also must go, to seek our fates."

"Harbaugh!" I screamed again. "Your power

Over me has come to its end.

Release my parents and sister this hour!"

The gestures did not cease, but the motion

Of the monster's mouth came to a halt.

Listener, the joyous, fierce emotion

That passed through me at that time,

I can barely begin to describe.

"Now," said my guide. "We may begin our climb

Up his body, now that your family has been freed

Of the hell which you yourself devised.

If ever you have listened to me, take heed

Of my words now. He can no longer

Control you, or harm them, in any manner.

Daria, you have proven you are stronger."

The climb was long and hard, but my guide

Never let my endurance falter.

Once we had reached the summit, we were outside

At the base of Purgatory's colossal peak

And I stopped, and gazed around, looking for

Faith, seeing that my future was no longer so bleak.

For my personal prison no longer had bars,

And we wandered out together, beneath the stars.

X X X X X

She was jolted awake. Not only had she dreamed, she had dreamed in poetry.

Weird. But that wasn't the most important thing.

Somehow, then, she knew that Faith was safe. She also knew that she could never tell anyone about it -- not wouldn't, but literally could not.

The final weight had been lifted. Her family was free. Faith was waiting for her, somewhere.

She looked at the book next to her on the bed, and decided that she didn't need to read the 34th and final canto. It wasn't relevant any more.

Daria had already made her way through the _Inferno_.


	43. Chapter 43: Epilogue

Author's Note: Yes, epilogue. But don't worry. I have a sequel idea all mapped out which I am going to get to immediately. To those people waiting for my sequel to the _Veronica Mars_ fic "Death Becomes Him," I apologize profusely, but this sequel's burning a hole in my pocket, so to speak.

This chapter takes place on Thursday, May 3, 2001. The sequel will begin a couple of days later.

Author's Note: The _Buffy _characters are Joss'; the _Daria_ characters are Glenn's; and everyone else is mine.

X X X X X

21 days later, Mrs. Krueger -- the name she insisted everyone at Wolfram & Hart call her, even if the higher-ups knew her real one -- still hadn't been cleared of all charges. And, under the circumstances, Wolfram & Hart was even reluctant to use her on any outside missions.

Which left her training, studying, and generally in an all-around bad mood. The police had ransacked her house looking for the proof of who she was -- her husband, alertly, had run out to the mailbox and mailed all of the incriminating documents he could find to a post office box elsewhere in the city. So when they'd searched the place, they'd found nothing more than some trace evidence and, unfortunately, her cell phone.

They'd tried to trace the Watcher's Council representative, Dunwitty, but hadn't had any luck. In one of the few bursts of intelligence the man had ever shown, as soon as he heard that Mrs. Krueger had been arrested, he'd beaten landspeed records getting to the airport. Apparently he'd taken the first international flight available, which was to Perth, Australia. By the time the LA Police had gotten around to contacting their Perth equivalents, the man had left Perth and had had plenty of time to get himself good and lost. The authorities in England said they'd look out for him, but weren't making any promises.

Still, while that was good news, that still left the attempted murder charges, which Wolfram & Hart had not been able to quash. In the meantime, cut off from most of their funds -- they didn't dare go to the Post Office Box until everything was settled -- they had to fall back and actually rely on their paychecks.

She wasn't used to living within her means. She hated it, for herself and for her kids, who didn't understand why they weren't getting everything they used to.

So she took it out on her training partners. Today, to her delight, she was fighting the woman who'd managed to delay her attack on Faith Lehane aka Daria Morgendorffer for the precious few seconds it had taken for her intended victim to figure out how to fight back -- a shapeshifter named Cameron Kim.

X X X X X

21 days later, Cameron Kim was getting her clock cleaned by a very angry former assassin.

Why, she had no clue. It had just been a job to her; a job she hadn't done as well as she should have, but a job nonetheless. Yet for some reason, now that they were in one of Wolfram & Hart's practice gymnasiums, working on their combat techniques, the woman was acting as though Cameron had personally ruined her life.

While almost anything went in one of these combat sessions, it was supposed to stop short of lethality. Yet Mrs. Krueger was coming at her as though she fully intended the battle to end up with Cameron bleeding out on the gymnasium floor.

So far, whether she'd become a snake, a deer, or a leopard, she hadn't been able to connect more than once. If Mrs. Krueger had stayed still long enough to try to strangle Cameron, the way she had back in Morgendorffer's prison cell, then it would have been simpler; but a few weeks of combat training at Wolfram & Hart had taught even someone as experienced as Mrs. Krueger that she could learn a few new tricks.

She was popping in, hitting Cameron with her metal fist, and popping back out again. The only time Cameron had made contact had been a lucky blow.

So Cameron changed the rules of the game. She shifted into her orangutan form and scrambled up a rope to the ceiling.

Mrs. Krueger couldn't hit what she couldn't touch -- and she hadn't, yet, learned to fly.

Still, it was a somewhat ignominious ending to the day.

Five minutes later, with Mrs. Krueger still glaring at her from the gym floor, a messenger demon came in and told Cameron that training was over and that Lilah Morgan had a job for her to do.

Cameron was so profoundly grateful that she wouldn't have cared if the job involved impersonating the Pope. She almost knocked the emissary down in her haste to get to Ms. Morgan's office.

X X X X X

21 days later, Lilah Morgan was in a reasonably good mood, despite the presence of a new attorney in the office, Gavin Park, who seemed to think that he could succeed with Angel where others had failed.

Daria Morgendorffer was due to get out of prison today. A remarkably speedy turnaround, one might think, given how slowly the wheels of justice normally turned, but a little prodding from Wolfram & Hart in the right places, once they'd gained access to Dr. David Simonson's private notes, had gotten them turning as quickly as they needed to.

Faith Lehane was gone. And while Simonson had had some reservations about Daria Morgendorffer's attitude towards her aunt, Amy Barksdale, for having had her declared mentally incompetent, a little bit of persuasion -- in his case, bribery -- had gotten him to make the declaration that Daria Morgendorffer was free of Lehane's personality and once again competent to handle her own affairs.

Cameron Kim came racing into Lilah's office as though all the demons of hell were after her. Which, with this firm, was a very real possibility. "Youhaveanassignmentforme?" she asked. Yes, like that.

"Slow down, Kim," she said. "What's gotten into you?"

"Today was Mrs. Krueger's day to train against me. She hates me for some reason."

Lilah shook her head. The woman had been told not to let personal grudges interfere with her work. She'd have to have a talk with her.

Beyond that -- "I'll take care of that," Lilah said. "Now. I've got a long-term assignment for you. More tracking than anything."

"Yes?"

"I want you to keep an eye on Daria Morgendorffer for a couple of weeks. Make sure she hasn't been fooling everyone for the last month."

"And if she has?"

Lilah shook her head. Cameron had skills and was quick-thinking, but she really wasn't very bright. "Kill her. Of course."

And Cameron Kim laughed. "_Kill_ her? Ms. Morgan, Mrs. Krueger couldn't kill her. How the hell am I supposed to do it?"

Lilah's grin was completely devoid of any warmth. "Find a way," she said, and dismissed the shapeshifter.

Then she looked down at her paperwork, which had to do, primarily, with Angel.

Angel had been harassing them for the last three weeks on the assumption that _they_ had tried to kill Daria. It had taken it that long to get it through the vampire's thick skull that they were better served by keeping her alive.

She still wasn't entirely sure they'd convinced him.

X X X X X

21 days later, Angel still wasn't completely convinced that Wolfram & Hart hadn't been behind the attack on Daria. For one thing, while keeping their office under surveillance, he'd seen women who matched the description of the two women who'd invaded the prison. (Kate Lockley had managed to track down a photo of one and a description of the other from her sources at the police department -- the last favor she'd done Angel before she'd finally left LA a couple of weeks back.)

Now, apparently, from all he'd been able to gather, the redheaded assassin, who used the alias "Mrs. Krueger" but whose real name, apparently, was Rebecca Barnstein, had only been seen coming and going from the Wolfram & Hart main offices since one of their attorneys had mysteriously surprised her and everyone else while she was being booked. The reason he knew that it wasn't to discuss her case was because she was seen showing up early in the morning and not leaving until late afternoon. So it was possible they were telling the truth.

Certainly, the doctor thought so. While she'd needed a week or so to get up to speed on the workings of Wolfram & Hart and the Watcher's Council, once she had she'd spent a lot of time carefully analyzing them both. "If this were court," She'd said, "This wouldn't be enough, of course. But it's not. Everything Wolfram & Hart does seems to be geared towards satisfying their most powerful clients while simultaneously making things run as smoothly for themselves as possible-- and they're willing to do anything to make that happen. Faith living for the next fifty years as an inexperienced Daria would seem to fit."

"That would mean that Lilah's been telling me the truth," Angel had said.

"Right," the doctor had replied. "So?"

"So I wouldn't believe them if they told me two plus two equaled four."

The doctor had smiled. "Don't let them manipulate you like that. The best liar isn't the person who lies all the time. It's the person who mixes their lies with the truth to best serve their own ends. I've seen enough sociopaths and pathological liars to know that."

"So you're comparing Wolfram & Hart to a sociopath."

"In the sum total of their actions, yes. Individuals can vary, of course. But when you know you're dealing with a sociopath you examine everything they say, but you don't automatically assume they're lying every time they open their mouth. Wolfram & Hart is perfectly capable of telling us the truth, when it suits them. Don't let your instinctual mistrust deafen you to the possibility."

Angel, on balance, was inclined to agree with her -- but he couldn't completely leave his mistrust behind. (Nor, to be fair to the doctor, was she advising him to do so.) So, while their efforts at the moment were geared more towards investigating the Watchers' Council -- and if _they_ turned out to be the ones who'd set Mrs. Krueger on Daria, then Angel Investigations would need help -- they were still keeping a close eye on the law firm.

Their next step was going to be tracking down Mrs. Krueger and interrogating her. The devil, there, was in the logistics. Catching her was one thing; keeping her was quite another.

While they were working that out, there was something more immediate to deal with.

Daria was getting out today.

Which meant, although no one but he and Dr. Vaughn knew it, that _Faith_ was getting out today.

Daria's aunt Amy was meeting her outside the prison. From there, somehow, Daria would make her way to the Hyperion, where Angel would be waiting to give her the trigger phrases necessary to bring Faith back.

That was, of course, assuming Amy Barksdale didn't have other ideas.

X X X X X

21 days later, Amy Barksdale stood outside the LA County Women's Prison and waited for her niece to emerge. The three weeks had passed by very slowly. On the other hand, so she'd been told, having Daria out of prison in anything less than three _months_ was a miracle of modern bureaucracy. But apparently Dr. Simonson had tried every trick he knew, every line of investigation, and had found no evidence that Faith was present in Daria any more, at all.

This had been enough for Judge Knott, who, ignoring the outcries of some victim's rights groups -- who really hadn't gotten a whole lot of support from the country, except from a handful of conservative talk show hosts and people such as Dr. Alexander Pulaski who were willing to latch onto any public topic to gain their pet cause some attention -- had decreed that Daria be released today.

Amy was not alone outside the prison; a dozen or so reporters were there as well. This was a far cry from the hundreds who'd been covering the story a few weeks back, but still more than she, and likely Daria, wanted. Any discussion between aunt and niece would have to take place either in the car or at the destination, wherever that turned out to be.

There she was. Amy had provided a duplicate of the outfit Daria had been wearing when she disappeared -- a black skirt, Doc Marten boots, an orange shirt -- but Daria had insisted on a leather jacket to cover it up. Her niece looked at Amy, then at the mob of reporters, and walked directly up to Amy, saying, "I guess you're the lesser of two evils" as the reporters ran up.

She opened the door to Amy's rental, but before she got in, Daria said to the reporters, "I'm glad to be out. I don't know what I'm going to do with my life beyond getting a GED and seeing if, somehow, I can go on to college. And I'm grateful to my aunts for giving me the opportunity. Thank you."

One of the reporters, a trifle faster than the rest, asked, "What are you going to do right now?"

"Right now?" Daria said. "Find some pizza."

"Pizza?" Amy said as they drove away from the prison.

"Pizza," Daria confirmed. "And there's somewhere else I have to go afterwards."

They drove to a nearby shopping center, where there was a pizza joint called Rosario's. They ordered a large pizza with pepperoni, sausage, and mushrooms, and a couple of sodas. Afterwards, while they sat at a booth and waited, Amy said, "So, I see you don't hate me."

Daria sighed. "I never hated you. It would be pointless to hate you."

"But you don't like me very much." Amy didn't phrase it like a question.

"No. Not that I'm not, in a sense, grateful for everything you tried to do. Without you, I'd still be in jail. Still --"

"Still." There was no need for Daria to go any further, and thankfully, she didn't. "I hope you'll forgive me some day," Amy added.

"You're already forgiven, to some extent. Just remember that forgive and forget are not the same thing. Still, you and Aunt Rita are basically the only family I have left. I'm not going to cut you out of my lives. Even for what you did."

Amy thought she saw where Daria was going. "But for the moment you'd rather us not be so close by."

"If you'll let me, yes," Daria said. "Not all the time, at any rate." Amy had been afraid of something like this; on the other hand, Daria could have told her and Rita to go take a flying leap into the Pacific Ocean, and she hadn't done that, either.

So Amy had made arrangements. "So I'm guessing you'd prefer to stay in Los Angeles?"

"Yes. In fact, that has something to do with where we're going next. I've made arrangements with a friend of Faith's -- Angel, I think you met him --" Amy admitted she had -- "And he said he'd let me stay at his hotel until I was able to figure out where I wanted to go next." Amy wasn't entirely sure she liked that; but she had to prove that she trusted Daria, so she didn't raise any objections.

Instead, she said, "If you'd prefer not to, you don't have to stay there long. I've made arrangements for you to have access to the reward money I had set up for anyone who provided proof that you were still alive. If you want it, that is . . ." Amy trailed off, noticing the confused look on Daria's face. When she didn't say anything for a minute or so, Amy added, "No obligations. I swear."

Daria said, "Then I'll take it." Amy, surprised at the abruptness of her decision, simply handed over a debit card in her name, a checkbook, and a register. "There's over $54,000 in here," Daria said.

"A $50,000 reward with interest," Amy said. "And it was far less than you were worth."

For once, Daria was speechless.

X X X X X

21 days later, Daria Morgendorffer ate a slice of pizza -- absolutely delicious -- and looked at her aunt. The $54,000 revelation hadn't changed her desire to be on her own for a while, but it did cement her opinion of her aunt as someone who had been willing to do anything to get her back, and get her out of jail, no matter whose toes she had to step on along the way, including Daria's own.

Aunt Amy had clearly loved her very much. Just as clearly, she hadn't known Daria at all, or she wouldn't have behaved as she had.

Daria was still angry; she probably always would be. She also knew that letting the anger consume her was a bad idea. Amy and Rita were the only family she had left. The events of April 10, 1997 had seen to that -- and had shown her how much, ultimately, she'd loved Jake, Helen, and Quinn.

In the meantime, there were other things to do, not the least of which was get to the Hyperion hotel. She also wanted to meet the real Buffy and see if she was anything like her echo, who'd kept training her for the last few weeks. Yes, Daria's intellect and confidence made her sure she could handle the job, but she wasn't dumb enough to believe there was nothing she had left to learn.

She also wanted to meet Angel, who'd been supportive. To her surprise, he'd called her, making clear that he didn't blame _her _for what had happened to Faith, and offering her any help she needed when she got out.

Little did he know about Faith, of course, though Daria was uncertain as to the source of her own certainty. If the _Inferno_ dream she had had had been a prophetic one, it had been "a majorly freaky one," at least according to the echo, who was the nearest thing to an expert she had. Still, she was certain. She suspected this was akin to religious faith -- no pun intended -- which she still did not possess. "Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen."

Pun, in this case, very much intended.

Anyway, she'd asked Angel if, if Aunt Amy didn't mandate otherwise -- and the woman seemed to be burdened enough with guilt that she had absolutely no desire to do that -- if he minded if Daria stayed there for a bit until she figured out what she was going to do next. Given how highly Faith had thought of him, Daria was fairly sure she could trust him.

She and Aunt Amy talked about the practical aspects of what she was about to do, and how to deal with reporters, if they bothered her -- and autograph seekers, for that matter. Aunt Amy also gave her the family contact information and all of her vital documents -- among other things, a duplicate birth certificate and a state-issued picture ID, which she'd managed to get Daria a brief, escorted furlough to get a week or so back.

They finished off the pizza -- delicious, wonderful pizza, the closest thing on this earth to proof that there was, in fact, a God -- and Aunt Amy drove her to the Hyperion.

A good-looking man dressed in black waited for them in the lobby. Not what Daria had pictured when she heard "private investigator." Not that she was thinking Sam Spade; she was thinking fat, bald guy peering through hotel room keyholes. "Ms. Barksdale," he said coolly.

"Angel," her aunt said in a similar tone.

"I can just feel the love overflowing in this room," Daria said dryly. Then she walked up to Angel and stood there. "I realize this must be very weird for you. For which, I apologize. Still, it's nice to meet you."

Angel gave a minimal bow. "Nice to meet you as well, Daria." After a brief pause, he said, "If I didn't know that you and Faith were the same person, I never would have guessed. You walk differently, you talk differently, you act differently."

"I _am_ differently," Daria said. "It's weird. I told you."

"It is. But I can handle it."

Daria nodded and turned to her aunt. "How much longer are you going to be in Los Angeles?"

"Another few days," Aunt Amy said.

"I'll call you before you leave," Daria said.

"I'm being dismissed," Aunt Amy said, frowning slightly.

"Only for the moment," Daria said. "I promise." She walked up to her aunt and said, "Don't make me have to hug you to prove my sincerity." Daria was not one for overt physical affection.

"I know better than to tempt the apocalypse," Aunt Amy said. "I'm counting on that call."

"You'll get it." They said their goodbyes, and Aunt Amy, somewhat reluctantly, left.

Daria turned back to Angel. "My aunt gave me over $50,000. So I may not have to stay here for that long."

Angel's eyebrows rose. "So she took my suggestion, Good?"

"Your suggestion?"

"More like an offhand remark. Your aunt offered to pay Maggie Silber for her efforts on your behalf; when I declined, I said maybe she might want to save it for you. I'm glad she did so."

"So am I," Daria said. "Still, for a few days at least, I am going to stay here." She picked up a small bundle containing all of Faith's worldly possessions and said, "I'd like to dump this off. Could you point me to my room?"

"In a second. First, there's something I have to say to you."

"What?"

"I never knew you had so much rage in you."

Daria said the response without thinking. "What can I say? I'm the world's best actress."

Smiling slightly, Angel said, "Second best."

And, once again, Daria _remembered._

X X X X X

21 days later, Dr. Lynette Vaughn waited, out of sight, in Angel's office, until Amy Barksdale left, and until Angel spoke the trigger phrases. She wanted to avoid any unpleasant confrontations.

Once she heard Angel say, "Second best," she counted off five seconds and then walked out into the Hyperion lobby.

Daria saw her first. "I remember everything," she said. "Faith's still here inside me. I knew it."

"You knew it?" Angel and Lynette asked at the same time.

"Weird dream. Don't ask."

Lynette said. "Well, the dream was right. She is there."

"Well then, say the magic words and let her out again."

"I can't. But you can."

"Me?"

"You. Think about it. There's no point in having someone else have to trigger your changes. Other people aren't always going to be around -- especially if you need to make a quick change so Faith can go kill a vampire."

Daria stared at her, then at Angel. "She knows," Angel said.

"I figured that out when she mentioned slaying and vampires," Daria said. "I was just startled. So, what are the phrases?"

Angel said, "Listen carefully. I'm going to tell you both of them before I want you to say them." Daria nodded. "The one to turn Faith into you is 'uranium in the drinking water.'"

"Uranium in the drinking water?" When Angel confirmed this, Daria smiled and said, "Appropriate."

"You thought so when you came up with it," Lynette said.

"And the one to turn you into Faith is 'Give us a kiss.'"

Daria nodded, memorizing the phrase, and then said deliberately, "Give us a kiss."

X X X X X

24 days later, she came to in the lobby of a hotel. She saw Angel, saw the Doc, and then, grinning widely, Faith said, "It's about damn time."

Angel and the Doc both smiled as well. "Good to have you back," Angel said.

"Oh, believe you me, it ain't half as good as it is bein' back," Faith said. "And, even more importantly, out. Unless DM had enough of that place and escaped."

"She didn't. You're free and legal."

"Hot damn." Then she looked down at her outfit. "Who the hell dressed me?"

"Daria did," the Doc said. "And I think you're going to have some things to hash out the next time you talk in your dreams. I doubt she's going to want to dress in the style to which you've become accustomed."

"Well, she does have this somewhat kickin' leather jacket," Faith said. "We can deal."

"Now Angel had a couple of phrases to teach you," the Doc said, and Angel went on to tell her the words that would let her turn back into Daria, and the ones that would make Daria become her. "And I'm going to have to ask you to turn back into Daria for a few minutes. I know you just got out, but --"

Faith interrupted. "Relax, Doc. I'm back now. You and Angel and DM went through all that shit, you ain't gonna give me five minutes of freedom and then lock me back away forever. Uranium in the drinking water."

X X X X X

"And so I'm back," Daria said.

"Yes," Dr. Vaughn said. "I figured you'd want to give Faith some time, but there was something I wanted to go over with the both of you. First is that -- if you'd let me -- I'd like to keep trying to help you. Not to integrate you -- just to be there if you need someone."

"I think you've amply proven you can be trusted," Daria said.

"Thank you, Daria," Dr. Vaughn said. "I don't know what I can do beyond provide counseling --"

"You've already done it," Daria said.

"I think you've done a lot more for yourself," Angel said.

"I think so," Daria said thoughtfully.

"You seem different from who you were when I first brought you back," Dr. Vaughn said.

"What can I say?" Daria said. "Now, I have Faith."


End file.
